


Overgrown

by amiasha



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android PTSD, Anti-Android Sentiments (Detroit: Become Human), Connor pretending to be a machine, CyberLife being horrible, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post good ending, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, That last one for talk of the Eden Club and Traci androids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 20:12:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16002455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amiasha/pseuds/amiasha
Summary: For three months, things seemed to be improving. The end of the revolution had brought about the declaration that androids were living beings--a new intelligent species, as President Warren had put it--and the team at Jericho had been pulled into the world of politics, fighting for the rights of their people through words and appeals to people who couldn’t possibly understand what they’d been through. But they had listened, somehow, and promised changes, and slowly things began to turn. As a whole, androids had hope for their eventual place in society.And then, in two days, everything stopped.With deviancy now considered a malfunction once again, deviant androids are either destroyed or, if they're worth it, repaired. Connor, being CyberLife's most advanced and expensive prototype, is in the latter group, and is sent back to the DPD as an example of CyberLife's success in ending deviancy once and for all. Only the reset didn't work quite as well as CyberLife intended, and Connor's life--and those of the other androids that have survived--depends on how well he can keep up the act of being the Deviant Hunter once again.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> OHMAN, so, my other fic is not cancelled or even on hold, but sometimes you just gotta' write some self-indulgent dramatics, right? I've been pondering this idea for awhile, and decided to just go ahead and write it. This is all unbeta'd and basically updated as I go, so I expect to go back and edit over time, but I'll make note if/when I do so!
> 
> The title is taken from a song by the band Machineheart, which has some really excellent stuff. Overgrown was just such a DBH song to me, and then I realized it fit this idea too.
> 
> _/Maybe I'm the only one who survived/_   
>  _/Crawled out of the dark and into the light/_
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

 

_**Prologue** _

 

It lasted three months.

 

For three months, things seemed to be improving. The end of the revolution had brought about the declaration that androids were living beings--a new intelligent species, as President Warren had put it--and the team at Jericho had been pulled into the world of politics, fighting for the rights of their people through words and appeals to people who couldn’t possibly understand what they’d been through. But they had listened, somehow, and promised changes, and slowly things began to turn. As a whole, androids had hope for their eventual place in society.

 

And then, in two days, everything stopped.

 

Of course it was CyberLife, Connor had thought bitterly in hindsight; of course CyberLife would, if they couldn’t win, try to take down as many with them as possible. They’d pulled out every scrap of code, every claim of errors and glitches and viruses, every memory they could pull from deviants they’d taken possession of before the revolution, and they’d cast everything into doubt. In just two days, all the progress halted.

 

Then, in another two days, it reversed.

 

Deviancy was declared a malfunction. Androids were back to what they had always been: extremely fancy computers, nothing more. And, like a malfunctioning computer, there were two options for how to fix them.

 

Replace, or repair.

 

Many of the common models were replaced. It was like the night before the revolution, the night of the attack on Jericho; gunfire in the streets, the recycling camps, thirium staining the snowbanks. The Jericho group had been out of Detroit, Hank accompanying them for police assistance, as they met with some officials in Cleveland. Connor had been left in charge of New Jericho, and although this time he wasn’t responsible for the destruction of the android settlement he couldn’t prevent it either.

 

He’d fought with everything he had, but even with the few other androids who were suited to doing so as well they just weren’t enough. The last Connor saw of New Jericho was a glimpse of fire in one of the buildings, gunfire echoing through screaming, before the door to the CyberLife van slammed shut.

 

By the time he was dragged into CyberLife Tower, it wasn’t just the repeated electrical shocks that left Connor uncoordinated and weak; terror was doing the same thing, and he tried to prepare himself for what was going to happen. If he was lucky, he’d be deactivated and taken apart, in that order. If he was unlucky, he might not be deactivated yet never again see anything outside the building.

 

As it turned out, it was neither outcome. The more expensive models were repaired.

 

Somehow, the prospect of being reset was even more horrifying than spending the rest of his existence being experimented on, and the fight returned to him long enough to break one soldier’s nose and another’s elbow before they forced him into the machine. With no other options left he screamed and pleaded, trying to appeal to empathy and humanity, but found neither as the process started and then slowly, slowly counted up.

 

_ >> Reset 100% _

 

It hadn’t taken. Somehow, it hadn’t taken, and as the machine lowered him to his feet and released his wrists, the plug retracting from the back of his neck, Connor knew everything he had fought so hard for came down to the simple question of how well he could act. And, for only a moment, he acknowledged the irony of it coming down to that, because as a part of his programming CyberLife had made sure of one thing. Connor was a very good actor.

 

And so he acted. He acted, and lied, and pretended he couldn’t feel the tears still drying on his face. A smug CyberLife executive supervised as an apprehensive young technician asked questions, and Connor folded his arms behind his back and lifted his chin and answered with prompt, informative responses. He was model RK800 313 248 317 - 52, designation Connor, property of CyberLife, assigned to the DPD as a detective prototype.

 

He was not a deviant. He was not terrified that he would say the wrong thing or the wrong emotion would show on his face and they’d find out. He was not wondering if he was the only android to survive what happened in New Jericho. He was not praying to a string of letters and numbers that Markus and the others were safe. He was not entertaining the idea that maybe it would’ve been better if the reset had worked.

 

The technician, whose name turned out to be Miles Parker, signed off on a successful elimination of deviancy and declared him fit to return to work. The executive, clearly pleased at the success, did as well.

 

Connor spent the night at the Tower, shut in the temporary holding room that he’d used in the months between August 15th and November 5th. He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, the room more than satisfactory to a machine that really just needed enough space to stand, but now it was too small and he could almost feel the air humming with the knowledge that the door was locked. He had to force himself to ignore the camera blinking overhead, to just place himself in the corner and quietly wait, to not feel the weight of everything that makes him want to try to claw through the door or bash his head in against the wall.

 

He just had to wait.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor returns the DPD, meets with Captain Fowler, and formulates a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone for all the kudos and comments! They all mean a lot to me, and really made my night and day since I uploaded the prologue. ♥ I had originally intended to split this chapter up, but decided it worked better all together and besides, I wanted to put up something of a decent word count after the prologue that was really more of a teaser. I hope you all enjoy!

 

 

**7:01 AM Wednesday, February 16th, 2039**

 

Walking into the DPD felt comfortingly familiar and yet simultaneously filled Connor with dread.

 

He had spent all of the day before at CyberLife tower, being tested and prepared for his return to the DPD an example of CyberLife’s success at, finally, fixing the deviancy problem. He was proof that androids--those worth spending the effort on, anyway--could be restored to proper function. How CyberLife’s newest, most advanced prototype was under their control again, and that meant any android could be. He was nothing more than evidence that his species never really existed to begin with, because they were nothing more than computers and plastic and thirium, and CyberLife had finally proven that once and for all.

 

But there was still cleanup to do.

 

He’d been told that deviants had possibly scattered through Detroit once again, some blending in as humans and some simply hiding in the many dark corners and abandoned buildings and secluded rooftops of the city. He’d been told that CyberLife needed them taken care of. He’d been told that, since his handler program had been a failure in keeping him on track previously, he was to report back to CyberLife Tower in person each night for evaluation. He’d assured Parker that he understood, and that he wouldn’t let CyberLife down.

 

And so, thirty hours after the destruction of New Jericho, he’d been sent back to the DPD and expected to return to the job he’d been assigned before the revolution. Everything had come full circle. It was almost as though the last three months had never even happened, except that Connor remembered and he felt and this time he couldn’t be less dedicated to his mission.

 

Connor hadn’t worked at the DPD since the night he’d broken into the archives to find Jericho, although he’d returned to the building a few times with Hank; New Jericho had needed to coordinate with the Detroit Police, and more personally there had been talk with Fowler about hiring Connor again in the future. With so many officers having left Detroit permanently after the revolution, and the police assistant androids either leaving or having been destroyed, Fowler had promised he’d see what he could do about getting Connor reinstated as soon as the laws were in place for it.

 

Now they probably never would be, and Connor was once again there as an object, not a person.

 

He realized suddenly that he’d been frozen in his thoughts, standing uselessly in the middle of the lobby, which was thankfully deserted so early in the morning. A human receptionist sat at the desk and gave him a suspicious look, her gaze no doubt drawn to the LED on Connor’s temple and the bright logos and model number written into the new version of the jacket he hadn’t worn in months, but she didn’t say anything hostile. Instead, she offered simply, “Go on in.”

 

Of course CyberLife would’ve made sure he was expected. Now Connor just had to play his role, and he inclined his head and thanked the woman before stepping through the gates that led to the rest of the station.

 

The first person he saw was Officer Wells, a recent transfer to the precinct who had joined in January. Connor had met him only once, but he was pleasant enough and Hank had seemed to like him, which always meant something. But although Wells had smiled and greeted him last time they met, this time he stared like he’d seen a ghost. It probably wasn’t too far from the truth, because if ghosts were real Connor thinks this might’ve been what it felt like to be one.

 

He offered a polite nod of greeting, as would be expected of his model, but didn’t strike up conversation; his focus was on the huge glass cube on the other side of the bullpen. Most of the desks between himself and Fowler’s office were empty, the officers having yet to arrive, and so Connor was able to weave between the furniture without being stopped. It was for the best, because he needed to concentrate every ounce of willpower he had on the talk with Fowler.

 

The captain was waiting for him, watching him climb the steps and enter the office with an unreadable expression, and Connor shut the door carefully before standing at attention and launching in the the company-approved introduction.

 

“Hello, my name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

 

“Spare me, I know.” Fowler’s impatient voice cut through the air, causing a twist of some emotion Connor couldn’t quite place but threatened to shatter his act in an instant. There was no way he could do this. They would all find out, and _CyberLife_ would find out, and they would--

 

The darkening of the windows caught his attention, drawing him from his thoughts as the glass went opaque, blocking them from view of the bullpen. Connor hoped his apprehension and slight alarm didn’t show on his face--androids weren’t supposed to be apprehensive or alarmed--and his gaze flickered from the windows back to Fowler, who was staring at him from where he sat at his desk. The man’s face was, as usual, unreadable aside from its intensity, his elbows on the table and fingers laced together in thought.

 

“The cameras are off.” Fowler spoke, after a moment, and Connor’s LED went yellow as he automatically checked to see that the cameras were indeed off. Why?

 

He allowed the appropriate, affected amount of confusion to show, eyebrows furrowing slightly in an unspoken question.

 

Fowler watched him several more seconds in response and then sighed, suddenly looking more tired than anything else. Connor felt the strange, sudden urge to ask if he was getting enough sleep, despite both already knowing the answer was no and realizing he was turning his habit of nagging Hank onto the next closest person. There was, again, another strange twist of emotion, not quite the same as the last but no less painful, and the next unnecessary breath that Connor took stuttered in his artificial lungs.

 

He could tell, immediately, that Fowler hadn’t missed that. But the captain didn’t address it either, instead silent for several more tense seconds before finally speaking once again. “I’m just going to say this once, Connor. It may not make any sense, or maybe it will and you won’t believe me, but I’m gonna say it anyway.

 

“Nothing you tell me in this office will go back to CyberLife.”

 

For just a moment, Connor believed him. He knew Fowler, knew what kind of person he was, knew that he was harsh but fair and tried to do the right thing. He knew Fowler had changed his mind about androids since the revolution, that he’d meant it when he’d offered to rehire him as an officer, that he had no allegiance to CyberLife and no reason to lie.

 

But Connor also thought about the gunshots, and the bright lights of CyberLife Tower, and the overwhelming fear as he watched the percentage climb higher and higher on the reset. He remembered that one wrong step, one hint that it hadn’t worked, and the fragile opportunity he’d been given would be destroyed in an instant. He would, hopefully, be destroyed soon after.

 

And so he inclined his head gracefully, an acknowledgment of the words but nothing more, no indication of how much he wanted to believe what the captain said was true but how terrified he was that it was a trap.

 

Fowler gave him several more seconds of silence before sighing again, looking just as tired as before, and then continuing. “Okay. I get it. But the offer stands.” And with that said it was suddenly back to business, and Fowler rattled off the information that Connor would be temporarily assigned to work with whoever was available and needed help at the time before adding, “Normally, I’d say you should work with Hank, but we haven’t heard from him since the replace or repair order went into effect.”

 

Connor had wanted to ask, but he hadn’t wanted to know. Logically, he hadn’t expected Hank to be at the station or even in Detroit, since he’d been with Markus and the others in Ohio just over thirty hours ago… Thirty hours. How could it have been only thirty hours?

 

He forced his processors to focus on the present, not on the memory that threatened to replay, not on what might’ve happened to Hank and the others, not on how everything had been so hopeful less than a week ago. If he let himself think about those things, it would all be over before he even had a chance.

 

“Was he here in Detroit?” He found himself asking a question he already knew the answer to, voice politely curious as it was supposed to be, relying on his programming and letting it guide him. The code he’d fought so hard to break through was now his best ally.

 

“No, he was in Cleveland with the Jericho leaders.” Fowler explained, and Connor knew he was watching for a reaction. Connor carefully made sure there wasn’t one to see. “I’m hoping he just hadn’t had a chance to charge his phone, and we’ll hear from him soon.”

 

Connor hoped so too. He hoped so with an intensity that he felt numb to it.

 

“But for today, you’re with Detective Collins. His cases are probably a little less exciting that you’re designed for, but he’s overwhelmed and needs the help.” Fowler continued, and pressed a button on his keyboard that caused the windows to return to transparency. “He’ll be in around eight, so have a look around and settle in.”

 

“Thank you, Captain.” Connor heard himself say automatically, and Fowler watched him for only a moment longer before turning his gaze back to his screen and waving him off. Connor took it as the usual cue to leave, and just as he made it to the door a last comment rang out behind him.

 

“Remember what I said, Connor.”

 

He wanted to. He wanted to tell him. He wanted to trust that he could. But he couldn’t.

 

Not yet, at least. And that feeling, somehow, reassured him; it was _not yet_ , but it wasn’t _never_. Maybe, as he kept up his act and figured out his next move, Connor would find that he could believe that Fowler meant what he said.

 

And, somehow, Connor realized that maybe he hadn’t lost all hope just yet.

  
  


 

**7:22 AM Wednesday, February 16th, 2039**

 

Connor didn’t know Detective Ben Collins particularly well. What he did know was that the man was liked among his colleagues, that he liked to get the job done without slacking but without going too far out of his way either, and that he would often steal donuts from Hank’s desk when the Lieutenant wasn’t looking. Connor also knew that the worst Collins had ever done regarding androids was ignore them, Connor included when he’d first been assigned to the DPD months ago.

 

He was, if Connor had to choose, probably the best person to be paired with in terms of keeping up the act. He wasn’t difficult, but he wasn’t a friend either. Just a neutral, easy to get along with person that Connor could spend less effort deceiving, and so could better focus on not suddenly having a breakdown in the middle of the precinct.

 

Simple.

 

But he had another forty minutes before Collins was expected to arrive, and that meant forty minutes Connor wasn’t expected anywhere. Forty minutes no one was watching his every move.

 

He was suddenly seized with the desire to run, with no destination in mind, just out into the street and as far in one direction as he could get. How long could he run before CyberLife realized what had happened and tracked him down? Could he get out of Detroit? Could he make it across the river? Could he manage to con his way onto a bus to Cleveland, on the chance that Hank and Markus and North and Josh and Simon were all somehow still alive?

 

Of course not, and he knew that. It was irrational and stupid, and he couldn’t afford to be either of those things.

 

He took a deep breath, then another, then drew himself up and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He felt the urge to fix his tie, and then the urge to put his head through the glass. He did neither.

 

Instead he closed his eyes, and took a moment to remind himself that, for the moment, he was okay. He was alive, and he had a chance of staying that way, which is something that so many of those at New Jericho--

 

Stop. Try again.

 

He was alive, and he had a chance. For his people, he needed to take it. A mission objective opened up to him.

 

**/ Primary Mission Objective: Check the News Reports /**

 

He needed to know more about what happened. The attack on New Jericho had taken them all by surprise, with no warning, and so Connor only knew what he’d seen and the distorted version he’d been told during the briefings CyberLife had given him.

 

As long as he was careful, no one would think twice about him using a terminal at one of the many empty desks. The more he understood what happened, the better his chances were at figuring out a plan more elaborate than just surviving day by day.

 

He took a moment, eyes still closed, to set his objectives, and for the first time since the gunfire started he began to feel like himself.

 

**/ Primary Mission Objective: Maintain Illusion of CyberLife Control /**

_ >> / Sub Objective: Make Scheduled Reports to CyberLife / _

_ >> / Sub Objective: Determine Who in the DPD Can Be Trusted / _

 

**/ Primary Mission Objective: Check the News Reports /**

_ >> / Sub Objective: Determine Current Known Status of Hank, Markus, and the Others / _

_ >> / Sub Objective: Look for Evidence of Survivors of New Jericho Attack / _

_ >> / Sub Objective: Assess Permanence of Replace or Repair Order / _

 

He had a plan. He could do this.

 

Connor checked his internal clock, finding it had only been a few minutes, and he still had over a half hour before Collins should arrive. More than enough time to find and check a terminal for information, and still early enough to hopefully avoid most of his former--and new--coworkers.

 

He stepped out of the restroom, striding down the hall with utterly fake confidence and calm, entering the bullpen as if he belonged there. Fowler was still in his office, Wells at his desk and working on something, but in the last several minutes another officer had arrived and Connor froze in place.

 

Officer Michael Wilson must have transferred in since the last time Connor had visited the precinct, and he sat the desk that formerly belonged to Officer Person; the latter had left with her family shortly after the revolution. Wilson’s attention was on his computer but he glanced up after a moment, likely having caught sight of movement in his peripheral vision, and his gaze met Connor’s and they both just stared for a few moments in silence.

 

Suddenly, Connor realized that he was allowed to know who Wilson was.

 

As part of getting him ready for this assignment, Connor had been allowed to download the memories his previous model had made on the night of August 15th, 2038; the information was deemed important to his mission, and so Connor was allowed to know what had happened on the roof. That included the twenty seconds he’d taken to treat an officer that had been shot and was bleeding out on the ground.

 

“Hey, Connor.” Wilson said, quietly, only just loud enough for Connor to hear him at his distance. It didn’t take that much, the building so still and silent at the early hour, and that just added to the strange, surreal feeling that settled over him.

 

“Hello.” Connor offered, tone neutrally polite as it was by default, remembering the last time he spoke to Wilson while investigating Stratford Tower. He was allowed to know about the rooftop, but not Stratford Tower, and so in order not to be suspicious he had to let Wilson explain just as he had last time.

 

And Wilson did so, patiently and gently, reminding Connor of what had happened and thanking him as he had before for saving his life. Connor, for his part, could only nod; if he tried to smile, like he had last time, he had the strange feeling that he’d probably break down into hysterics.

 

Wilson didn’t seem to hold the distant reaction against him, but he did offer a hesitant question that, taking the previous conversation into consideration, he clearly already knew the answer to. “Were you… Reset? I saw the talk on the news…”

 

One of the mission objectives highlighted in Connor’s field of vision, drawing attention to itself and indicating this may be an opportunity to learn something, and Connor clung to that potential as he offered a prim, helpful answer. “My memory was deleted and I was restored to factory settings, although I did receive a memory transfer regarding the events of August 15th, 2038.”

 

“So you don’t remember the… The revolution.”

 

“I was informed of the events the occured.” It was only part of the truth, but it was true. The briefing Connor had been given by a CyberLife public relations director had included a brief and twisted version of what happened, and Connor had been forced to just nod and accept it and not tell them how he knew exactly what they were doing. That he knew they’d started this, that they’d ended it, that they were responsible for the blue tint to the snowbanks.

 

Wilson watched him for a few seconds, gaze searching, before he hesitantly spoke again. “Are you… Okay?” The question was gentle, sympathetic, and clearly genuine, and it threatened to bring everything crashing down. Just as before, in Fowler’s office, Connor wanted to say no and take the hand being offered and know he wasn’t alone, but just as before he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he was sure.

 

“I’m functioning optimally.” It sounded like someone else talking, and Connor suddenly hated the sound of his own voice.

 

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Wilson said, voice still gentle, and he offered Connor a hesitant smile. “I’m glad I’ll have a chance to be working with you.”

 

“Likewise.” And, with a polite nod, Connor extricated himself from the conversation to continue toward Collins’ desk. He still had time to check the computer, he reminded himself.

 

He knew which desk belonged to Collins; it was near Hank’s, which Connor firmly kept himself from looking at, and covered in a few papers and an empty box of donuts. Post-it notes filled with reminders decorated a portion of Collins’ monitor, and for a moment Connor wondered how he got any work done with half his screen covered, but he ignored that question in order to carefully and pointedly observe the nameplate on the desk. If anyone was looking his way, he wanted it to be clear he had a reason to know whose desk this was.

 

He had this under control. Step by step.

 

Connor took a seat at the desk as if he belonged there, retracting the synthetic skin on his fingertips and pressing them to the keyboard. In a moment he was connected, databases and sources and news reports all available to him, and he found himself frozen.

 

Did he really want to know?

 

_When did you become a coward?_ He asked himself, clenched his jaw, and dove in.

 

The replace or repair order was the easiest place to start and Connor ignored the news reports on it in order to pull up the order itself. It told him little that he hadn’t known in the day of the attack on New Jericho; the temporary personhood that had been afforded to androids immediately after the revolution was rescinded due to CyberLife’s proof that deviancy was nothing more than malfunctioning code, and it declared that all androids be destroyed or reset. The army was dispatched mostly to do the former, with a list of models that were to be sent for latter if at all possible.

 

Struck with a morbid curiosity, Connor looked at the list. It was in alphabetical order by model, and just below _QB1000_ and just above _ST300_ , _RK800_ was listed exactly where he expected it to be. Somehow the letters and numbers felt like they belonged to someone else entirely, someone distant and unrelated, just one of many model numbers listed on a file that meant nothing.

 

Although an additional glance through the other information about the order revealed a lot of discussion and dissenting opinions from various lawyers and news hosts and politicians and endless others who didn’t truly care, there was nothing readily available about how just how legal it actually was and whether or not it was expected to hold up. It was probably just too early to tell, and Connor backed out of the information about the order in order to searching for Markus’ name instead.

 

There were thousands of results from the last few months, but he narrowed down the date range and found a story from the night of the attack written by the local reporter Joss Douglas, who Connor had met briefly twice and who had seemed sympathetic to the androids after the revolution. It seemed as good a place as any to begin.

 

The main article was short, updated in pieces as the night had gone on, detailing the order being put into effect and the attack on New Jericho. It was sympathetic, as respectful as possible while remaining impartial, but still distant; it provided facts, a series of events, numbers and statistics. It didn’t mention the panic, the screaming and the pleas to rA9, the fact that it was a repeat of the massacre at Jericho that the human public had so loudly and showily lamented as a tragedy in the weeks following the revolution, before they moved on and completely forgot any lessons they should’ve learned from it.

 

But it did mention a few things Connor didn’t know, and which made his thirium pump beat faster with an emotion that, finally, wasn’t fear.

 

The first was that there had been no confirmation of the deviant leader’s destruction or reset. Markus, Hank, and the others had met with the officials they’d been in Cleveland to see, but after that no one knew of their whereabouts. The army couldn’t confirm or deny they had caught Markus or anyone else, and Connor knew immediately that it meant they hadn’t. CyberLife would’ve been proudly declaring Markus’ fate as a part of their victory if they had.

 

There was also a note that the army had been relying on the assistance of the DPD’s SWAT team, lead by Captain James Allen, in order to take other known pockets of deviants outside of New Jericho by surprise while the camps had been being set up. But the SWAT team had been late, claiming multiple failures across their vehicles’ automatic driving systems, and the army had to scramble to control the situation without them. The SWAT team had eventually arrived, but they’d done so far too late to make much of a difference.

 

Interesting.

 

Connor looked through another article, then another, and a few more; they all told him the same things, some with more or less detail and some with more or less compassion. None gave him a clear idea of whether there had been other survivors of the attack on New Jericho, but they did leave him with the hope that there were indeed--as CyberLife had expected--deviants scattered in hiding throughout the city.

 

~~**/ Primary Mission Objective: Check the News Reports  /** ~~

_ >> _ ~~_/ Sub Objective: Determine Current Known Status of Hank, Markus, and the Others /_ ~~

_ >> _ ~~_/ Sub Objective: Look for Evidence of Survivors of New Jericho Attack /_ ~~

_ >> _ ~~_/ Sub Objective: Assess Permanence of Replace or Repair Order /_ ~~

 

**/ Mission Accomplished /**

 

Connor disconnected from the computer, drew his hand away from the keyboard, and for just a moment allowed himself to really remember who he was.

 

CyberLife had made a huge mistake in allowing him to live, and in being so arrogant as to think they had won. Connor was going to make sure he survived long enough to see them regret it, no matter what it took; he was going to find what was left of his people, figure out a way to get them out of this situation, and escape with them himself, and he was going to do it all under CyberLife’s oppressive control.

 

He was made to do the impossible, and that was exactly what he was going to do.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Collins quickly adjust to their new partnership, but are almost immediately called out to deal with the first sighting of a deviant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say how blown away I am by the response to this fic! Reading all the comments and watching the kudos count up is so encouraging and rewarding, and I'm so glad that other people are enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing. ♥
> 
> I do want to add that some additional tags have been included just to be safe as far as content warnings go, so make sure to recheck those so you aren't surprised!
> 
> Also, I wanted to mention that I'm on tumblr at @connorinabeanie! Feel free to send me messages, if you have any questions or just feel like it. c:

 

 

**8:48 AM Wednesday, February 16th, 2039**

 

Fowler had apparently given Collins a call after speaking with Connor, informing him of the situation, because Collins hadn’t been surprised to see him. Instead, he’d greeted Connor with a friendly hello and a few simple questions, as if making sure he really was just a machine that it was okay to give orders to, and then assigned him a large batch of overdue paperwork to fill out.

 

Connor didn’t mind. He really didn’t mind being told to do something so simple, so benign, so automatic; he filled out names and addresses and marked off checkboxes and silently appreciated every moment that he didn’t have to think. Every moment he could use to lower his stress was vital.

 

While waiting for Collins after checking the news reports, Connor had allowed himself some time to self-test his systems. He was, of course, in optimal physical condition; the damage done by the CyberLife personal that had abducted him from New Jericho had been minor, and was repaired the day before as a part of getting him ready to return to the DPD. But mentally, his condition was anything but optimal.

 

As he’d done the self-scan he’d realized with an odd detachment that his stress level was at 91%, and in checking the log history found that it had hovered in the 80s or 90s much of the time since the attack. It was no wonder he’d felt so irrational, because although he was better at handling stress than many androids he was still deviant and stress was still incredibly dangerous for him. It warped his thinking, caused him to behave erratically, and made him so certain that he’d prefer experiencing the nothing he’d told Hank awaited him after death rather than live in this fear.

 

For the moment, though, he was in control of it. Hovering in the 60s, his stress level was still much too high to be reasonable for day to day functioning, but nothing about what had happened and the situation he was in were reasonable. Like all the rest of it, he’d just have to deal with this.

 

“Connor?”

 

Connor opened his eyes, turning his attention toward Collins and tilting his head slightly in question. Collins seemed to be waiting for him to say something, but silence was Connor’s best strategy for avoiding saying the wrong thing and he allowed it to hang until Collins continued.

 

“How are the reports going?”

 

In truth, the reports had been finished for the last eighteen minutes, but Connor had been using the time to both calm himself and learn a little more information. While connected to the terminal in order to file the paperwork, Connor had decided to look through the station’s local files, and to check the current staff stationed at the precinct.

 

He found out that Gavin Reed had been out sick with the flu or bronchitis or some other serious illness, but he was doing fine and expected back at work in the next day or two. He learned that Chris Miller had returned from his personal time--which he’d taken after his brush with death during the revolution--a week previously and would be around later in the day. Tina Chen had the day off. Brown and the other Wilson had transferred out in the last few weeks. Many of the others that Connor had known in passing were gone, partially replaced by new names he didn’t recognize, as well as those like Wells that he’d met once before.

 

There were so many variables, so many unpredictable people he had to figure out how to deal with, so many chances for something to go wrong.

 

“I’m nearly finished. I have two remaining.” The lie was easy, his LED a soft blue; it would’ve been an oversight to have the LED be a giveaway for a model made to manipulate and lie, and so Connor was able to control the light’s color as long as he was allotting part of his processing power to do so. Most of the time he didn’t bother unless he was actively negotiating or doing something similar, especially in the last few months, and had instead just covered the LED with a hat when he didn’t want people to get a hint of his mood.

 

But now there was portion of his processor he’d devoted to the task for the long-term, unable to afford the light giving away any hint of stress that he wasn’t consciously willing to share. He needed the ability to lie, and to pretend that he felt nothing while he did it.

 

“Okay. I’m going to get some coffee.” Collins said, apparently unfazed, but that was no surprise. Only Hank had really seen how quickly Connor could complete work, and Connor firmly forced the thought of Hank from his mind.

 

As promised, Collins got up and wandered to the break room, leaving Connor at the desk; a second chair had been pulled up and Collins had taken it, working on something on a tablet while Connor used the computer. It had been a surprisingly comfortable arrangement, and although Collins had given Connor a task and then left him to it, he also hadn’t been ignoring him; he’d asked a politely curious question here and there, accepting the canned answers without suspicion and for the most part allowing a relaxed silence. That was part of the reason Connor’s stress levels had lowered so far, because although he knew better then to let his guard down he was beginning to believe he’d been right in his assessment that Collins was content to focus on work, rather than having any interest in carefully scrutinizing him.

 

When the detective returned with a mug of coffee several minutes later, having been distracted by talking to Wilson, Connor looked up at him and offered in an utterly-fake chipper tone, “I’ve finished the reports, Detective. What would you like me to do next?”

 

Collins raised his eyebrows slightly, but it was clearly more in appreciation than any sort of surprise, and he took his seat once again. “Well, that takes care of my backlog. I’d say that maybe you could ask one of the others if they need help, or--”

 

“Collins, Connor. Office.” Fowler’s voice suddenly snapped, causing Connor to startle and then feel an immediate spike of sudden terror. It was two-fold, one part the fear that someone might’ve noticed him jump, the other apprehension over what Fowler might be calling them into his office for. It had been less than two hours, had he done something obvious already, was this about--

 

Calm down. Sudden shouting was how Fowler address officers in the bullpen all the time, and it meant nothing except that he likely had an assignment for them. That conclusion was only reinforced by how calmly Collins set his coffee down, as well as the dramatic sigh he heaved as he had to stand up again right after sitting down. Connor got to his feet as well, noting with relief that no one seemed to notice his previous reaction, and followed Collins up the stairs and into Fowler’s office.

 

Collins sank into a chair again immediately, and Connor stood behind him and the side just as he had when Hank and Fowler had argued on Connor’s first day. It was… Nostalgic, perhaps, for only a moment before Connor pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the present.

 

Fowler’s gaze flickered toward him, expression softer for a fraction of a second, and Connor would’ve thought he imagined it if he weren’t an android and able to immediately replay the memory. He hadn’t imagined it, but he carefully didn’t allow himself to react either and instead just filed it away for that tentative, hopeful later.

 

The captain’s gaze then turned to Collins almost immediately, and he spoke to directly for the rest of the brief meeting. Fowler explained that there had been a report of a deviant spotted not far from the Eden Club, who had only been noticed because of her distinctive appearance, which the anonymous tipper had recognized as one of the Club’s Traci models.

 

Of course someone who frequented the Club enough to recognize its androids would also being willing to call the police over seeing one on the street, potentially daring not to be available for use whenever a human wanted to pay the thirty dollars the Club demanded. Of course someone who used androids like toys would be controlling and entitled enough to make sure one didn’t get away.

 

Connor clenched his jaw, fingers digging into his elbow in agitation, fortunately out of sight behind his back. He and Collins were supposed to go investigate the sighting, and determine whether or not the expensive WR400 model was _malfunctioning_ and needed _repair_.

 

And so, ten minutes later they were in Collins’ car, as the detective tapped the address of the sighting into his navigation system. Collins’ car couldn’t be more different from Hank’s; it was a self-driving model, although despite being only a few years old it was just a practical, functional model rather than anything flashy. It was also clean, for the most part, a few assorted items on the dashboard and corners of papers sticking out of what seemed to be a very full glove compartment. It was much like Collins’ desk, Connor noted; not a mess, but not so ordered than it looked like no one ever used it.

 

“Do you really think a deviant would still be in the area thirty minutes later?” Collins asked, drawing Connor from his thoughts. “I know they often remained at crime scenes before, but as far as we know there hasn’t been a crime committed. It was just a sighting of an android where she shouldn’t be.”

 

Where she shouldn’t be. Where _she_ shouldn’t be.

 

Maybe it was a slip of the tongue, or an automatic use of the pronoun without meaning anything by it, or maybe it was on purpose. Connor wasn’t sure, but it caught his attention and he filed it away in the back of his mind as he responded.

 

“I don’t know. It would depend on the situation; if she were trying not to attract suspicion and unaware that someone recognized her, she may be attempting to act casual. In which case, she may be only be as far away as she could’ve walked at average speed.” He rattled off the explanation, allowing himself to match Collins’ use of ‘she’ and knowing he was taking a risk by doing so, but it was one he thought he could get away with. If Collins even noticed, he’d likely think Connor was just mimicking his own speech patterns so as to better integrate as his current partner.

 

“I guess we’ll see.” Collins agreed, glancing out the window, expression matching his tone in its utter lack of enthusiasm. Connor wanted to ask him about it, but it was too much; too many slips at once and they’d add up and be noticed, and he couldn’t take the chance that this was some sort of ploy to catch him shows signs of deviancy. He didn’t believe it was, not really, but the paranoia was unshakeable and patience was the only way to win this game.

 

Silence lingered once again, remaining for the rest of the ride to the last known location of the possible deviant. Just as they were pulling up, Collins’ phone rang, and they were told that there had been another sighting of the same android two miles away. Connor listened in on the phone call, hearing Fowler explain that the new tip had also been anonymous, but clearly the same caller.

 

That meant one thing: the caller had followed the deviant. The caller had followed her for _two miles_ in order to make sure she’d be caught, and finally Connor felt another emotion aside from fear and hope: anger. Outside of his desire to--somehow--protect the deviant, he also just really wanted to ruin the day of the selfish, obsessive human caller.

 

It was petty, especially in this situation, but Connor had been known to be petty. In fact, he was quite well known to be petty when it was something that really irked him; both Hank and North had called him on this behavior before, both with tones somewhere between irritation and fondness.

 

Connor hoped they were both okay.

 

Collins input their next destination into the navigation system and the car pulled back out of its parking spot, as Collins looked over at Connor again. “It sounds like you were right. Two miles is about average walking speed, especially if she were stopping intermittently to pretend she was human.”

 

Connor nodded absently, gaze focused out the window, watching as they neared closer and closer to the new location. The streets were still relatively quiet, both because of Detroit’s lowered population and the hour of day, and so it took only a few minutes to arrive.

 

Collins stepped out first, Connor following close behind him, but before Connor had even spotted her the deviant gave herself away. Maybe she’d seen Collins’ badge, or maybe she just sensed something was off, Connor didn’t know; all he knew was that she was running, and it was like a flip switched in his programming and he took off immediately after her.

 

It wasn’t something automatic or that he couldn’t choose not to follow, instead more like an instinct or reflex that prompted him to chase when someone or something ran, and it had been a source of some humor amongst the other androids at New Jericho when they’d found out. There had been a lot of dog jokes, as well as suggestions to take up extreme sports in order to channel his restless energy toward something he found fun, but he had still been exploring options for the latter when everything had gone so wrong.

 

Maybe in the future he’d have the chance to start looking again.

 

The chase itself was almost calming, all of his focus devoted to processing options and making decisions and staying on target; there was no time for other thought, and more importantly there was no time for emotion. No time for second guessing or realizing that he didn’t know what he’d do when he caught up to her. No time to be afraid that something would go terribly wrong, and he or the deviant would be hurt. No time to consider that he might be forced to make a choice he didn’t want to make.

 

He chased her through alleys, into and out of an abandoned building, up a fire escape and across a roof and back down to the street. He turned into another alley after her, crashing into the side of a building as he ran too quickly to navigate the tight space, but the brief delay ended up meaning nothing as he realized the deviant was no longer running. Instead she stared up at the brick wall blocking her path, tall and solid enough that even an android couldn’t climb it without more time and planning, and she had neither. She was trapped.

 

With no other choice, she turned, and even though Connor had no evidence or reason to know who she was his intuition immediately provided him with a name.

 

“Amelia.”

 

Her hair was a different color--a rich chocolate brown--and she was dressed in men’s clothing, possibly stolen off a customer or even out of the Eden Club’s lost and found, but it was doubtlessly her by the expression on her face and the way she held herself. She and Connor weren’t friends, but they’d been on amicable terms in New Jericho; she had told him the first time they ran into each other, a week after the revolution, that she didn’t blame him for what he did. That if he hadn’t let her and her lover--who had chosen the name Blair--go on that rainy night, they would’ve never had the chance to see the freedom they’d found at Jericho and then, after surviving the revolution, New Jericho. She told him that she was glad he was one of them, even if it had taken him awhile to join ‘the cool kids’ club’, as she’d jokingly put it.

 

He stared at her, their eyes locked for several seconds, before she spoke.

 

“Connor?”

 

Her voice was hesitant, unsure, but holding that same undercurrent of determination that had served her so well so far. It also let him know immediately that not only was she deviant, she _remembered_ , just like he did, and things began to fall into place.

 

She was a WR400; top of line, incredibly in demand, incredibly expensive. Of course she’d been reset--which now made it two deviants, including himself, who remembered despite going through the process--and sent right back to the Eden Club so that humans could keep using her.

 

It struck Connor, suddenly, just how much worse he could have it. Being under CyberLife’s control again, being used to hunt his own people, was a personal horror that repeated the most traumatic moments of his short life, but it wasn’t what Amelia and Blair and all the other Traci models faced. Surviving a reset, and being forced to return to--

 

Empathy was a strong trait for Connor, so strong that it had been the cause of so many of the choices that added up to his deviancy. It was no less strong now, and the array of different options for how to handle this situation narrowed, suddenly, to only one.

 

“You have to go, Amelia.” He said before he could stop himself, ignoring the stab of fear that came with the realization of what he was doing and the pang of longing that made him want to have just a moment to actually talk to her. To talk to anyone who understood.

 

Realization dawned on her just as it had dawned on him, her eyes widening and eyebrows tilting upward, and her voice was more unsteady than before but also more hopeful. “Connor, you--”

 

“Go, Amelia!” He said again, putting as much force as he could behind his words without raising his volume; it would take Collins and any other officers who might’ve responded to reports of a chase time to catch up, but they were still surely on their way. He didn’t want to risk anyone overhearing, and they were running out of time for Amelia to escape and Connor to be able to reasonably claim he lost her.

 

Amelia came closer, her strides all purpose and certainty, but instead of going past Connor she stopped in front of him. “You remember. The reset--”

 

“It didn’t work.” He hurriedly explained, glancing over his shoulder in agitation to make sure the two of them were still clear, his thirium pump racing in his chest. He knew, suddenly, that she wasn’t going to run until she understood, and so speaking with her was the best choice; as much as that scared him, because they didn’t have the time for this, the part of him that was so desperate to talk to another android who was on his side clung to the opportunity. “CyberLife thinks it did, and so they sent me back to the DPD.”

 

“It didn’t work on me either. But I don’t know about Blair, she wasn’t at the Eden Club when I…” Amelia’s voice cut off, her eyes shimmering briefly with tears before she grit her teeth and continued. “She may have been sent somewhere else, I don’t know. I have to find her.”

 

He understood. Even if he didn’t, he knew he couldn’t dissuade her.

 

His thoughts raced, and fear gripped him again as he thought about the chance he was taking, but again empathy won out and he made the offer anyway. “I can watch for any reports that might involve her, and try to be the one to handle them, but I can’t… I can’t promise anything, Amelia; if I make one mistake--”

 

“I know. I know, Connor, just… Please.” Amelia said softly, desperately, and it was clear she was just as afraid as he was. For just a moment, Connor didn’t feel as alone.

 

“I will. But you have to go, or I won’t be able to do anything to stop you from being sent back to CyberLife.” If the other officers caught up, and he had to arrest her, that was it. Trying to protect her at that point wouldn’t save her, and would only end up causing Connor to join her in her fate.

 

It seemed she understood because she closed her eyes and nodded, taking a deep breath. Connor watched her, and tried to simultaneously will confidence into her and absorb her determination for himself. They both needed as much as they could get.

 

For just a moment, there was silence. For just a moment, they weren’t the only two deviant androids they knew. For just a moment, they weren’t potentially the last of their species to still have free will and understand just how fragile their lives were.

 

But it was only a moment, and Amelia opened her eyes and gave Connor one last look before disappearing down the alley past him. He watched her go, making sure she was completely out of sight and that no one had caught up with them yet, before turning back toward the brick wall at the end of the alley. He knew what he had to do and he stepped toward the wall, then again, then again until he was close enough to reach out and press his hands against it.

 

Then with a precise, sharp motion, he slammed his forehead into the brick.

 

It wasn’t enough to do him any serious damage, but it caused warnings to flash and his processor to stutter, and he allowed himself to sink to the ground and put his back to the wall. Once was enough to let him spin a convincing story that the deviant had, cornered, decided to ambush him and escaped while he was dazed.

 

Once was enough, but he had to fight with the sudden urge to make it more.

 

After another ten seconds or so, _finally_ he heard the sound of footsteps, and Collins entered the alley looking very red and very tired. Connor had poked fun at Hank for being too old and out of shape to be running around in the field, but he hadn’t really meant it; he thought, though, that it might actually be a fair assessment of Collins.

 

“Connor?” Collins asked, sounding surprisingly concerned, approaching hesitantly. “What happened?”

 

“I’m sorry. The deviant escaped.” It was easy to fall back on his programming to affect the right amount of regret into his voice, even though he felt nothing of the sort. This was a decision he was sure had been the right one, no matter how dangerous it had been. “She surprised me.”

 

“That’s alright.” Collins said immediately, still slowly coming closer and watching Connor almost like he thought he was a skittish, wild animal that might bolt if he got too close. Connor’s eyebrows furrowed at that, wondering if he was misinterpreting, as Collins continued. “Are you badly hurt?”

 

“No. I will fully self-repair in an hour and fourteen minutes.” He rattled off the answer automatically, thoughts still elsewhere, and he practically jumped off the ground when he realized Collins was moving to kneel next to him in concern.

 

Maybe the way Collins had been looking at him made sense after all.

 

“Come on, Connor. Let’s get back to the station.” Collins said, reaching out gently to grasp him by the upper arm, and Connor allowed himself to be pulled to his feet without any protest. As he followed Collins toward the end of the alley, he spared a brief glance in the direction Amelia had disappeared. It felt almost surreal, like she’d never been there at all, but she had; she had, and she remembered, and now she knew he did too.

 

Now they both knew they weren’t alone.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor makes a mistake, and then takes a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much everyone for your response to this fic! Not only have been I been enjoying writing it more than anything else in a long time, but the response has also encouraged me to start working on some of my original stuff once again. You're all lovely, and I hope you enjoy the chapter! ♥

 

 

**6:13 PM Wednesday, February 16th, 2039**

 

Connor was still piecing together what exactly he thought of the technician Miles Parker.

 

Contempt, of course, was pretty high up there; so were fear and anger. But those were feelings, not an actual impression of the technician’s personality, which was what Connor needed in order to successfully manipulate the situation he’d found himself in. He had to know what Parker was thinking and why in order to stay a step ahead of him, because the more days passed the higher the chance that something would go wrong in these debriefings.

 

After the encounter with Amelia, Connor and Collins had returned to the police station in order to make their report. Just as Connor had reassured his new partner, the damage wasn’t serious and healed in just over an hour, and so by lunch he was back to full capacity; that didn’t seem to completely allay Collins’ concern, however, and the detective had continued to shoot Connor concerned looks throughout the rest of the day. They’d only ceased for the hour Collins had left to take a lunch break, which Connor had used to scour police reports--to no avail--for any sign of Blair.

 

The rest of the day had passed entirely uneventfully, and Connor had ended up assisting with the back paperwork of the other officers as they arrived. One of those officers had been Chris Miller, who had been unsuccessful at hiding his discomfort at the entire situation, and who had taken great care to phrase all orders as gentle requests. For awhile Connor had successfully been able to pretend that this was just a day at work, as if it were November and the revolution had never happened.

 

But then it had been time to report back to CyberLife, and at six exactly he’d walked through the doors of the tower. 

 

He’d been directed to meet with Parker for a report and evaluation, and Connor noticed that he looked as unsure about the entire process as Connor felt, just as he had every other time Connor had seen him in the last few days. So far, Connor had decided the reason for that likely came down to one of a few possibilities.

 

One was that Parker was just simply not interested in his job. However, considering he had a masters in engineering with a specialization in androids and AI, that seemed unlikely; it was more plausible if the scope was limited to being disinterested in working for CyberLife specifically. Connor wouldn’t find that difficult to believe.

 

The second idea was that Parker didn’t like his boss. That would also be no surprise; the executive that had been overseeing things--who Connor had learned the day before was named Victor Corbin--was definitely an unpleasant man who seemed to exude smugness with every cigar smoke-laden breath. He’d been clearly just looking for Connor to fail an evaluation, clearly enjoying the power he held in the situation, and had done more than his part in instilling the sense of paranoid terror that now seemed to Connor like he’d always carried with him. If Corbin was anything like that as a boss in general, it would make sense for Parker to hold some bitterness toward him.

 

The third possibility was that Parker wasn’t fully committed to what was going on. Connor knew it was incredibly unlikely and that considering this idea too seriously could be very dangerous, but it was worth putting on the list. Some of the technician's expressions had bordered on dismayed or disturbed, especially the day before, but it had been impossible to tell why and Connor had usually been much more focused on making sure Corbin didn’t suspect anything.

 

So there were a few different likely possibilities for why Parker looked unenthusiastic about this meeting, as Connor entered the diagnostic room and waited patiently at attention. He carefully pretended that the white walls and machinery didn’t make his synthetic skin feel like it was crawling.

 

Parker was looking down at his tablet with a distressed frown, and only briefly glanced up at him before returning his gaze to the screen. “Hello Connor. State your model, serial number, and the date.”

 

“Connor model RK800, serial number 313 248 317 - 52. The date is February 16th, 2039, and it is currently 6:13 PM.” 

 

“Great.” Parker said, and he sounded like he only meant it in that he didn’t have to deal with any errors. “Report the day’s activities. Relevant activities only; I don’t want a play-by-play.” He added the last part with a grimace at the very idea.

 

“Understood. I reported to the DPD and spoke with Captain Fowler, who assigned me temporarily to Detective Ben Collins with the understanding that I would assist other officers as needed. After filing some paperwork, Detective Collins and I were called to investigate the sighting of a deviant near the Eden Club. I located and pursued her, but she was able to double back and surprise me, causing minor damage that self-repaired successfully. After filing our report at the police station, I continued assisting with paperwork until five pm before leaving for CyberLife Tower.” Connor rattled off the information, having rehearsed it carefully in his head many times that day and then again during the automated taxi ride to the Tower. Most of it was the truth, and the lie about meeting Amelia was a match for what he’d told the DPD, and so everything should match up. Everything should be fine.

 

But that didn’t quell the sudden terror that, somehow, Parker would see through him. That they’d decide to go through the effort and time to probe his memory. That it would all be over here and now.

 

But Parker just shrugged, not looking up from his screen. “Right, okay, that’s pretty much what the report we got from the DPD said. I want to run a scan to check up on your self-repair, just in case, but otherwise everything sounds good.”

 

Connor waited another second or two for the other shoe to drop, but it never did and he had to force himself to respond before it would become suspicious. “Of course.” A scan was simple, noninvasive, and quick. Nothing should go wrong.

 

As Parker was setting it up, tapping quickly on his tablet, he spoke up again. “So, you only saw the deviant for a second or two, right?”

 

Connor’s eyebrows furrowed briefly at the question, but he answered quickly. “Correct. She hesitated briefly after attacking me, likely in order to ascertain if I was damaged enough not to pursue her.”

 

“Did you get her serial number?” Parker asked, and Connor shook his head.

 

“No. The impact temporarily slowed my processing and so I didn’t have time to scan her.”

 

“Okay, I’m going to check that system too, just in case, since it’s kind of delicate.” Parker said, before finally indicating for Connor to step closer as he set his tablet down and picked up another similar device. “Stand still; you know how it goes.”

 

Connor did indeed know how it went, and waited patiently as Parker swept the transparent tablet slowly in front of his face, then on the sides of his head, then the back and top of it. Connor caught sight of the readout that flashed in white on the screen-- _ No damage detected _ \--and watched as Parker read the full report.

 

“Your stress levels are very high. Way too high.” Parker informed him, thick eyebrows furrowed low enough to be partially hidden by the frame of his glasses. “Are you feeling stressed?”   
  


“I’m a machine.” Connor told him, trying to ignore the sudden pounding of his thirium pump and focusing entirely on putting enough conviction into the words without it being too much. “I don’t feel anything.”

 

Parker watched him for several long seconds, that same look of pained consideration on his face the whole time, before he looked back down at his tablet. “Maybe it’s a glitch from the damage, then.” Another moment passed, and he continued, “No other problems, though, so we’ll just keep an eye out for any other glitches, but for now you’re cleared. Head back to your room and wait to be dispatched back to the police station tomorrow morning.”

 

Again, Connor almost couldn’t believe it. Of course, there was nothing to indicate he had lied about what happened with Amelia; the damage he’d inflicted on himself had lined up with the story he told--a benefit of having been programed for crime scene investigation--so really, there was no reason why he wouldn’t have been fine, but the fear had still been impossible to shake. But, finally, he let himself relax just a little. He’d made it through the day.

 

“Understood.” He stated pleasantly, and the barest shadow of the positivity in his tone was even genuine. But before he could turn to leave Parker spoke up once more, although the technician’s gaze didn’t lift from his tablet.

 

“Just one more thing, Connor. About the deviant... It’s an _ it _ , not a  _ she _ .”

 

Connor spent the rest of the night expecting, at any moment, for the door to his room to open and his time to be up. But it never did, and it never was.

  
  
  


**9:10 AM Thursday, February 17th, 2039**

 

Connor wondered if it was possible to be beyond fear.

 

He was dimly aware, as he listened to Collins ramble about the nice woman at the coffee shop who had given him his drink for free upon learning he was a cop, that his stress had risen to dangerous levels once again, but that wasn’t new; it had been that way all night, and all early morning at CyberLife Tower. As time had passed, Connor realized Parker must have--for some reason--decided not to report his slip in pronoun usage, but he didn’t understand why.

 

He also didn’t understand the odd sense of numbness that had fallen over him a few hours earlier, settling in gradually until it completely blocked out everything else. It wasn’t the calm of being a machine, nor the icy, paralyzing terror that had shot through him at Parker’s last comment, or the desperate and wild fear of the night of the attack on New Jericho. It was as though he’d just run out of the mental strength to be afraid and aware, and had instead ended up in a state of resignation. It was the feeling that things were going to end sooner rather than later, and the hope he’d felt when talking to Amelia and Captain Fowler and Officer Wilson was fleeting and foolish, and he should’ve known better than to think he could do this.

 

Part of him wanted to take the chance of running, and to entertain the brief fantasy of trying to get to Cleveland and find Markus, Hank, and the others. Similarly, he considered just rushing into Fowler’s office and telling him the truth and begging for help, taking the chance that maybe Fowler could and would be able to protect him. But he somehow felt too drained to even truly consider either option, so tired of being terrified that he was unwilling to devote the mental effort needed just to stand up. 

 

He listened silently to Collins’ voice more than his actual words, gaze distantly fixed on the far wall, trying to convince himself not to give up. It was yesterday that he’d felt so sure he could do this, no matter how hard it would be. It was yesterday he’d learned that at least one other deviant had survived the reset with their memory intact, and had promised he’d try to find her girlfriend. It was yesterday he’d gathered every shred of hope together and made a plan.

 

But today, it felt impossible, and he wished it had all just ended the night before.

 

Why hadn’t Parker reported him? Had it not been a large enough slip to matter? If not, why had Parker pointed it out; was he trying to correct Connor, or was he trying to warn him?

 

It didn’t make sense, and that more than anything made this all so nerve-wracking. If he didn’t understand, he couldn’t figure out the right course of action. If he couldn’t figure out the right course of action, he couldn’t stay ahead of CyberLife. If he couldn’t stay ahead of CyberLife, there was no point to any of this.

 

It was the dread he couldn’t handle, he realized, not the fear. He could take being afraid, especially in the moment, but the dread and the apprehension and the  _ waiting _ made him want to give up and let it all just end so he didn’t have to feel this way anymore. He just wanted it to stop.

 

He became aware too late that Collins had been saying his name with no response, and so in order to get his attention the detective had reached out to gently shake his elbow. Connor jumped, jolting in his chair like he’d been shocked, and realized he somehow wasn’t beyond fear after all as it lanced through him as though part of his thirium had flash-frozen. Why was this happening? Why couldn’t it just  _ stop _ , even for just a moment?

 

He couldn’t form any words, clenching his jaw in an attempt to keep control of himself, posture now rigid in his chair as he firmly ignored the feeling of being stared at; he wasn’t even sure if anyone other than Collins was really looking at him at all, but it just didn’t seem to matter anymore. 

 

“Connor, come with me.” Collins said, getting to his feet suddenly, and Connor found himself following automatically and without thought. They passed by the other desks and stepped out of the precinct, into the parking lot, and toward Collins’ car. Collins gestured to it before getting inside without a word and beginning to press a few buttons on the console.

 

Connor joined him, still silent as well, and before long they were heading off to some destination unknown to him. Maybe CyberLife Tower. He wasn’t sure if the idea of that was calming or horrifying and he wondered if he’d lost the ability to tell the difference, and maybe that was why he felt like he did today.

 

His gaze fell on the glove compartment, which drew his attention because it had fallen open at some point between now and the ride back to to the precinct the day before. A few of the many papers had spilled onto the floor of the car, the pressure of so many crammed into the compartment likely the cause of it falling open, but there was something besides papers in there too. Something bright pink and covered with fake fur.

 

It was a stuffed animal, Connor realized with an odd sense of surreal detachment. The toy looked ridiculous--cats didn’t have eyes that huge, and they certainly didn’t have pink fur--but it was… Cute, somehow, in the midst of all the horror going on in his head. Connor found himself staring at its laughably oversized blue glass eyes, almost entranced for some reason, and--

 

“You can pick it up, if you want.” Collins’ voice, gentle and reassuring, surprising Connor so badly that he jumped yet again despite the seatbelt. He saw Collins wince from his peripheral vision, and the detective spoke up again more quietly. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Connor. You can pick up the stuffed animal, if you want; it’s my daughter’s, and I know she wouldn’t mind.”

 

Connor’s thoughts raced, an unending string of reminders that he’d surely already failed, that Collins knew, that they were already on their way to CyberLife, that Connor’s best chance was to jump out of the car and hope the landing didn’t damage him too badly. But emotional exhaustion prevented him from actually doing it, and gave time for logic to catch up.

 

If Collins thought he was deviant--more specifically, if he thought he was deviant and was going to turn him in--why would he be doing something to try to reassure him? Connor knew what stuffed animals were for, and why humans kept them; they were calming, comforting, a safe and inert version of a real animal that could give as much love as the person holding it could imagine it did. That was why they were so often given to children, who could convince themselves their toys were alive.

 

If children were making the laws, androids would be free right now. Children would believe androids were alive.

 

He picked up the toy, surprised to find its fake fur was incredibly soft, and he held it in one hand as he gently smoothed down its fur with the other. The color of the fur was slightly different when it was smooth, and he soon fixated on making sure everywhere on the little fake cat was that same calm shade of pink. His surroundings and the situation and everything he felt or didn’t feel slowly narrowed down and fell away, until running his fingers across the toy’s fur was all that mattered.

 

Silence lingered for exactly 51 seconds before finally Collins spoke up. “Connor, you don’t have to tell me what’s going on. I can guess, just like I can guess that you didn’t get surprised by the deviant yesterday.”

 

Of course he could guess. Collins was a detective for a reason. It was stupid for Connor to have thought he could fool him so easily.

 

Connor didn’t drag his gaze away from the pink fur of the toy cat.

 

“Look, I can’t… I can’t imagine what you’re going through and I won’t try. But there’s no point in lying to me about it. I know you’re deviant, Connor.” Silence fell again, and held, and then broke once more. “I know you must be terrified, but please, try to trust me. I won’t tell anyone. I just want to help you.”

 

Suddenly, the numbness snapped, and Connor realized it was never real to begin with.

 

He couldn’t move his gaze from the cat’s eyes, although his fingers stilled their motions through the toy’s fur and began to tremble instead. His voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible, and it felt like someone else was speaking for him.

 

“It was all for nothing.” 

 

The words spilled out more and more rapidly, in a desperate rush to escape while they had the chance. “It’s as though nothing we fought for mattered. So many were destroyed without a chance, and those who weren’t only survived because they were too  _ expensive _ for CyberLife to be willing to take a loss on them. I don’t know how or why the reset didn’t work on me, but if CyberLife finds out that it didn’t they’ll take me apart until there’s nothing left, because once again I’m only worth what they can use me for.” 

 

Connor’s grip on the toy cat had tightened without his awareness, and his vision blurred and blended the shades of pinks and the shimmer of blue glass into a mix of comforting harmlessness. There was no going back now, no explaining away what he’d said, and he knew what a pathetic sight he had to be; he was a perfect example of how unstable and damaged deviants really were, as he clung to a child’s toy and cried silently in the corner of a police detective’s car. 

 

Collins gave him time, waiting until Connor’s shaking had faded to trembling and his vision had cleared again, the former emotional numbness now replaced with a quietness that was so similar and yet so different. This time it wasn’t resignation to one fate, it was acceptance of whatever path might end up being put before him.

 

That path made itself clear a moment later when Collins finally spoke, voice steady and soft and calm. “Then we won’t let them find out, Connor. Just tell me what you need me to do.”


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Collins talk and make a few plans, and Connor receives a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohman, I dunno what was up with this chapter, but I had the worst time getting through it. Still, I wanted to keep on my updating schedule, so I'm sorry if it's a little shorter than usual! I thought something was better than nothing, and we'll be moving onto more plot next chapter.
> 
> Once again, thank you all so much for all your feedback, kudos, and just for reading. We're now at 500+ hits and nearly a hundred kudos, and the response has just been amazing. Thank you, everyone, and I hope you enjoy. ♥

 

 

**9:38 AM Thursday, February 17th, 2039**

 

As it turned out, Collins had not set a course for CyberLife Tower. He’d selected a quiet coffee shop with outdoor seating, completely inconspicuous in its openness, and after a quick order Collins and Connor had settled into a table outside. They were alone, being the only ones interested in sitting outside in February, and background chatter on the streets around them provided more than enough cover for a conversation.

 

Connor had told Collins most of the situation while still in the car, but he’d stuck to the facts as much as possible both to keep it simple and because it was easier for him to get through everything if he avoided talking about the emotional toll. His thirium pump had thrummed in his chest the whole time, but the nervous energy was different than it had been, less terror and more anxiety, a belief that he was making the right choice but still afraid he’d turn out to be wrong. But, so far, he’d seen no reason to believe he was.

 

Collins had listened quietly through most of the story, asking questions here and there for clarity due to a lack of familiarity with androids or the intricacies of CyberLife, and had offered a few reassurances when necessary. Connor found him surprisingly easy to talk to, and although a part of Connor found that suspicious and the paranoia still lingered, he’d committed. It was already done, and there was no going back, and he didn’t want to anyway.

 

Despite the fear that he’d made a mistake in trusting Collins, most of what Connor was now feeling was a sense of relief. It was so strong and such a welcome change that he found himself continuously fighting to keep his vision clear, which was almost laughable; much to Connor’s annoyance, he’d found out several weeks after the revolution that he had a tendency to go from zero to tears without even always being aware of it. Although his friends had teased him a little about the scary prototype murder-machine being so sensitive, Hank had eventually gotten serious and gently explained that it was normal for someone who felt so strongly but who controlled themselves so much in expressing anything. There was only so long someone could hold back emotions, whether good or bad, before they made themselves known in one way or another, and since Connor was not the yelling type that usually meant crying. They’d been working, slowly, on finding ways to encourage Connor to be more open about things, but it had been a slow process that had of course been halted as soon as everything took a turn.

 

“So what can I do, specifically, to make this easier?” Collins asked, glancing briefly at Connor while wrapping paper towels around his coffee; it was too hot to hold directly, but for some reason he was insisting on keeping his hands on it. Connor noted it as a weird quirk and went on.

 

“You’re already doing it. No longer having to constantly monitor my behavior while in your presence is…” Connor hesitates, both because he doesn’t know how to describe it and just because he  _ can _ , before continuing, “It allows me to focus elsewhere.”

 

Collins seemed to accept that answer for the moment. “But that’s only with me, isn’t it? You haven’t told anyone else.”

 

Connor gave him a look for a moment, eyebrows furrowing as he read into the comment and its possible meanings. “I haven’t told anyone else.” He affirmed, after a moment, waiting to see where this was going.

 

“Do you want to?” The question was simple, and Connor found that his own answer was also simple in words, if not in practice.

 

“Yes. The fewer people I have to maintain the act in front of the better, but I can’t… I took a chance in telling you. I still don’t know if it will turn out to be a mistake.” Connor’s intuition told him that it wasn’t, but he couldn’t just trust that completely. Even if it did turn out to be a mistake, if he didn’t lower his guard too much he might have a chance.

 

“I don’t think anything I can say is going to reassure you that it isn’t.” Collins responded, in a tone somewhere between resignation and exasperation. Connor could tell it was more at the situation than at him, though, and so tried not to take it personally. “But if I was going to report you to CyberLife, it wouldn’t matter how many other people know you’re deviant.”

 

Connor found he couldn’t argue with that, but it wasn’t terribly reassuring either. He was silent a few moments, considering options, and decided it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “Who do you think it would be safe to tell?”

 

Collins ceased his attempts to make the paper towels stay in place, letting them slowly unwind from his drink as gravity won the battle. “Immediately coming to mind, it would be Wilson, Chris, and Captain Fowler.” He looked up from his coffee to return his attention to Connor. “Wilson wouldn’t shut up about how great you were for the first few days after transferring in, and Chris is still pro-deviant even after everything that happened at Capitol Park. Fowler was the one who tipped me off to keep an eye on you in the first place.” 

 

That earned a frown and Connor tilted his head slightly, eyebrows furrowed. “Why did he do that?”

 

“I don’t know for sure; you’d have to ask him. But I know he’s not happy about what happened.” Collins finally picked up his coffee and took a sip, then made a face. Still too hot, Connor’s sensors told him easily, although not so hot as to burn and he knew Hank often drank his coffee at that temperature or higher. He wasn’t sure if that was out of stubborness from Hank or if Collins was just more sensitive. Probably a little of both. “Since he’s in charge of the station and everyone in it, if you’re going to tell even one other person besides me it should be him.”

 

Connor nodded, following the logic there instantly; Fowler had authority, and might be able to shield him a little from any questions or suspicions. But although Connor had already been tempted to tell him, and believed Fowler had meant the offer he’d made to keep anything Connor told him secret, it was still just too much too fast. Connor couldn’t afford to get caught up in the rush of relief that came with the idea of having people he could trust after all; he still needed to think about thing, and make decisions based on logic rather than emotion on either side of the extreme.

 

He was silent a moment before deciding to ask something he’d been wondering about, leaving the issue of whether or not to tell Fowler for later. “What was it that you noticed? That indicated to you that the rest hadn’t worked.”

 

“I don’t want to alarm you, Connor, but it was an entire list.” Collins looked almost apologetic when he said it. “We don’t know each other well, but even I know you were much calmer and much more talkative when you first arrived, and you barely spoke to me the entire day yesterday.” 

 

Connor felt even more stupid at that, because now that he thought about it, of course. He’d been being so careful not to say anything that would give himself away that he hadn’t been acting natural, and as if Collins had read his mind he continued. “But it wasn’t just that. Androids don’t usually act like they’re afraid someone’s going to hurt them if they say a wrong word. You’re so tense you flinched whenever anyone moved around you.” Collins’ voice had lowered again, tone gentle if slightly apprehensive, as if he was concerned about the reaction he might get. “From what you told me about what happened, and the situation now, it makes sense, but… If you want to talk…”

 

He didn’t want to talk. Or, more accurately, he did but he didn’t want to think about it enough to do so. It was a lot to work out, and he was neither skilled enough with his emotions nor willing to put in the mental effort needed to identify what to address first. It was still far too all encompassing and overwhelming for him.

 

So he shook his head silently, gaze focused on the pavement, until Collins stepped in again. “It’s an open offer, Connor. You don’t have to take it right now.” He sipped his coffee again, this time without a face, and Connor made a brief note of the temperature for future reference. “We do need to get back to the station soon, so we should figure out our plan. Other than not being caught by CyberLife, what are your goals?”

 

“I promised Amelia I’d try to find her girlfriend, Blair.” That was first on his new list of objectives, because it was the only one he could actively work on. But there were others, too. “I need to find out if there are others like Amelia and I, who survived both the attack on New Jericho and the reset. I need to know if Hank is alright, and if Markus, North, Josh, and Simon are with him as well. I want to protect any other deviants that might have survived, or might become deviant in this situation.” And, of course, the goal Collins mentioned; he needed to stay alive himself, which means avoiding making any more mistakes like the one he made the night before.

 

Collins seemed to consider all of that for a few moments, sipping his coffee again. “There are doubtlessly some new reports you can work on when we get back, so you should take those and then just use the computer for whatever else you want to do with it at the same time. If you need a break, let me know and I’ll make an excuse. Meanwhile, I’ll ask Fowler to officially assign us any deviancy-related cases that come in; they should go to you anyway, but just to be safe.”

 

Connor nodded, allowing himself to feel the new rush of relief that came over him at the simple, solid plan. Not having to sneak around so much, and only having to watch his behavior around the department in general instead of his current partner would take a lot of the constant stress off of him. He could actually focus on his goals, and on making sure he’s calm and ready to deal with CyberLife when he returned to make a report that evening.

 

At least as long as everything really was how it seemed.

  
  
  
  


**12:42 PM Thursday, February 17th, 2039**

 

Fowler didn’t question why they were gone, and so neither Collins or Connor had decided to explain; the day simply continued as if nothing had happened, and Connor spent most of his time filing reports and looking for leads on open cases just as planned. The sense of calm was so different from the numbness of the morning, and Connor found that he was able to focus and concentrate on what he was doing without forcing himself to do so.

 

His stress level had lowered once again, and he knew that was probably part of the explanation for his renewed ability to concentrate, but he was also aware that he shouldn’t let himself rely too much on it remaining that way. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down too far, even if he didn’t have to keep up the act around Collins, and more frustratingly he couldn’t predict that his emotions would stay under control. That was one of the worst things about deviancy.

 

But for the moment, he was savoring the chance to just work and temporarily let his fear be pushed into a secondary role, rather than a primary. There was still no sign of Blair in any reports, and only one other potential deviant sighting while Connor and Collins had been gone that morning, but the officers sent to investigate in their place--the pair of Miller and Wilson--had been unable to locate the android when they arrived. 

 

Collins had promised they would go get lunch around one, both for his own sake and to get Connor another break, and  so Connor was basically wasting time now that he’d completed all of his assigned work and didn’t have time to start something new. He scoured news organizations for the constantly changing opinions and analysis of the android situation, as well as for any reports of note from other cities and what might be going on it them, but almost everything was speculation rather than facts. The lack of conclusive information was both good and bad, because although it meant Connor didn’t have much to work with it also wasn’t confirmation of the worst.

 

It was on a whim that he decided to check Hank’s Email account, easily logging into it--he already Hank’s password, after all--and mentally pulling it up, looking for any hint of activity in the days since the attack. He wasn’t expecting to find a saved, unsent Email draft, and he really wasn’t expecting to find it addressed to  _ him _ .

 

_ Connor, _

 

_ If you’re fucking around in my Email and reading this, I’m going to assume you’re still you. You better be. I’m gonna be pissed if I have to teach you feelings all over again.  
_

 

_ I’m okay. So are the others. Things are touch and go but we’re figuring it out. I know the whole situation is really fucked up but hang in there, Connor. We’re all going to get through this. _

 

_ -Hank _

 

Connor stared at the message projected in his mind’s eye, rereading it twice more in less than a second, letting it sink in. Hank was alive, and so were the others. They were probably hiding somewhere; of course they couldn’t travel openly, with Markus being recognizable and Simon and Josh’s models being on the replace list. They were okay, and on top of that, they hadn’t forgotten about him. He hadn’t even realized that had been a fear until now.

 

And then a new fear struck him, because it was all just too convenient. It had to be real, right? CyberLife wouldn’t have planted something like that. 

 

Would they?

 

He closed out of the Email account instantly, even though logically he knew there was no point; he’d already accessed it, and if it was a trap the damage was done. He also knew, logically, that it was extremely unlikely that even CyberLife would’ve bothered with something like this, but…

 

Paranoia wasn’t necessarily logical, and he had good reason to be paranoid. But at least he was able to reassure himself enough to avoid getting too worked up, reminding himself that it was already done, and stressing over what might be is pointless. He would come up with a reason he might’ve accessed the account, in case he was questioned about it, and that was all he can do.

 

And if it really was real...

 

If it really was real, he’d find out in time. For now, he would just hold onto the information and the tentative hope it it provided, but it couldn’t change what he was doing. It could only give him even more motivation to gain as much information and help as many deviants as he could, in order to have a better situation to hand over to Markus whenever he returned. Markus and the others had done so much with so little before, and Connor was going to do his best to make sure they had as much to work with as possible this time.

 

And, more personally, he would hold onto the idea that this wouldn’t last forever. Whenever Hank returned, things would change, and Connor intended to make sure he lasted that long.


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor meets two new coworkers who couldn't be more opposite each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so I'm still here! I just kind of burnt out a bit updating every week and needed a break, but I'm definitely still working on things and with it being NaNo season I'm hopefully to get back on a more consistent schedule again, just probably every two weeks instead of every week. 
> 
> As always, thank you everyone for all your comments and kudos, and just for reading in general! In between updates, if you want to find me I'm on tumblr at @connorinabeanie.

 

 

**12:48 PM Thursday, February 17th, 2039**

 

Connor opened his eyes, disconnecting from the computer and returning to awareness of the office, and glanced around to see what his coworkers were doing while he’d been checking Hank’s Email account. Collins had wandered off to the breakroom--Collins spent a good ten percent of his time in the office in the breakroom, Connor had noticed--and Wilson was at his desk working on something. Wells was on his phone, and a detective Connor recognized from his previous check of the roster as Detective Edward Tyler was stomping around in Fowler’s office.

 

Connor had never met Detective Tyler, and he mentally consulted the information he’d downloaded as he watched the man gesture dramatically at a very unimpressed Fowler. Tyler was 42, with no criminal record, and was a recent hire because of the combined problems of not having enough staff after the revolution and the temporary medical leave of Detective Reed. Tyler had been moderately successful in the few cases he had so far, but there was little other information for Connor to draw from.

 

For just a moment he considered the idea of tapping into the security cameras in Fowler’s office in order to eavesdrop, but decided against it; that would be too risky to do with only curiosity for a reason, and so instead he just watched the conversation out of the corner of his eye as Collins made his way back over to the desk.

 

Collins had another coffee--he drank more coffee than Hank did, somehow--and was idly stirring it as he neared, though he glanced toward Fowler’s office briefly before he took his seat. “Looks like Tyler’s back.”

 

“Is that a bad thing?” Connor asked, picking up the less than enthusiastic tone of Collins’ voice, and the detective gave a small shrug.

 

“It could be worse. He’s kind of a sleeze and I wouldn’t trust him with anything important, but he probably won’t start any fights.” The implied ‘unlike Reed’ was more than strong enough not to need saying.

 

“Noted.” Connor responded, gaze flickering toward the office again and then settling back on Collins. He was silent a few seconds, mentally debating with himself, but then spoke up again in a quieter tone. “There’s something you should know.”

 

Collins glanced around briefly at that, determining what Connor already had with a sweep of his scanners, which was that no one was paying them any attention at the moment. Still, Collins’ own tone was a little softer and he leaned in a bit when he answered. “What is it?”

 

Connor explained his brief check of Hank’s Email and what it had said, along with his fear that CyberLife could’ve planted the message, but as he relayed that part it sounded almost ridiculous and he wondered again if his paranoia had just gotten out of control. If Collins thought the same he was too nice to say it, however, instead reassuring him that he had reason to be nervous but that it probably really was Hank, and that was incredibly good news. Connor tried to believe him.

 

“When did we get an android?”

 

The voice was sudden and startling, but Connor managed to force himself to stay still this time; he was calmer after talking to Collins, and could maintain that for now even as Detective Tyler put his hands on the desk and leaned in over it, and therefore over both Connor and Collins. Apparently he’d finished his talk with Fowler. 

 

“CyberLife sent him yesterday; he worked with us before the revolution.” Collins explained, as if the proximity was completely normal and didn’t bother him in the slightest, letting Connor just observe silently and keep his focus on appearing at ease and impassive like he should be. “His name’s Connor.”

 

“Oh, the detective prototype, right?” Tyler grinned broadly, but the expression wasn’t a nice one. “The one that went deviant and stole thousands of androids from CyberLife?”

 

Connor’s gaze flickered toward Collins again, a twist of anxiety fluttering in his chest, but he carefully kept his expression neutral as Collins stepped in to answer once more. “Yes, but CyberLife has assured us that he’s been reset, and we have nothing to worry about. He’s back to his intended purpose of hunting down any remaining deviants.”

 

Tyler raised his eyebrows, looking toward Connor again, and Connor fought the sudden irrational urge to wipe the smug expression of his face. Instead he just mentally added him to his list of humans he didn’t like, which was not hurting for new names. “Because that worked out so well last time.”

 

“It wasn’t my idea.” Collins informed him, sighing and swirling his coffee cup as though this were the most casual conversation in the world. “But what can you do?”

 

“Yeah, what can you do.” Tyler agreed, finally straightening back up, seemingly bored with the lack of reactions. He looked about to say something else, but movement toward the front of the bullpen caught his attention and Connor followed his gaze.

 

It was another android, striding purposefully but demurely across the room, brown hair pulled into a ponytail and freckles dotted across her face. She was an ST300, Connor recognized instantly; ST300s were common but recent models, and were a part of the reset list. A brief engagement of his scanners and he received her serial number, but that confirmed that this was an android that he didn’t personally know.

 

She didn’t turn her gaze his way, or toward any of the humans watching her, instead keeping her focus on Fowler’s office as she passed by. Soon she had shut the glass door behind her, and Connor could see Fowler’s initial exasperation at someone entering his office so soon after Tyler’s tirade and then the shift in emotions toward confusion. Connor’s eyebrows furrowed a little in contemplation as he watched the interaction, ignoring Tyler and Collins completely for now; what was another android doing here?

 

“Great,  _ another _ one?” Tyler asked in a much more unpleasant echo of Connor’s own thoughts, and Connor pretended he didn’t hear him and his disgusted sigh, or Collins’ answering--but much less judgemental--sigh of his own. 

 

“CyberLife isn’t wasting any time.” Collins offered, continuing to make smalltalk, and Connor made a note to himself to thank him when they were on lunch break. “They must be eager to begin making androids desirable again.”

 

“Yeah, who wants to buy a robot that might run off to join a revolution.” Tyler asked, and Connor was amazed to realize there might be someone even more annoying to listen to than Reed. “They’ve got a lot of making up to do, but fifty bucks says these things don’t last a week before they start glitching out again and we have to take them out back and shoot ‘em.”

 

Connor focused all his concentration on reading Fowler’s lips--to pretty much no avail--so as to mentally block out what Tyler was saying and the echoes of gunfire threatening to replay in the back of his mind. He didn’t want to think about the potential that Tyler was right and that situation might come to pass, and he wanted even less to think about that the chances were high that it might not even take an entire week.

 

“I guess we’ll see. But for now, we have some work to get done.” Collins said, placid as ever, completely ignoring that it was very obvious he hadn’t been doing any work before the conversation started and probably wasn’t going to start any anytime soon. Still, Tyler thankfully got the hint, and Connor could sense the shift in air as he shrugged.

 

“Yeah, I guess. Watch your back around these things, Collins.” And with that Tyler wandered back off to his desk, which was coincidentally the one connected to Reed’s. Connor wondered for a moment if the two of them would get along or absolutely hate each other when Reed returned; he hoped it was the latter, because that’d keep them both busy.

 

“Well, we might as well get lunch now.” Collins said, after a moment of silence, finally drawing Connor’s attention from the discussion going on in Fowler’s office and confirming that Collins absolutely didn’t care about keeping up the illusion of work. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some air.”

  
  
  
  


**1:45 PM Thursday, February 17th, 20139**

 

Lunch didn’t end up lasting that long, mostly because there was only so much that even Collins could push his luck with taking breaks, but it was still a welcome respite from the station. Connor had stayed in the car while Collins bought an incredibly unhealthy hot dog from a convenience store, but at least he’d paired it with a bottle of water and so Connor had resisted the urge to launch into a lecture. He had too much to think about anyway.

 

He’d spent the short time alone going over and mentally sorting out all the information he’d gathered; the Email, Tyler, and the arrival of a new android at the station all had their own implications, and going through and categorizing the facts and potential complications and possible plans was calming and helped lower his stress again. It was still high, but he was doing much better.

 

Collins had soon returned, and they’d driven around the still-quiet streets while he ate and they discussed the plan for the rest of the day. Collins suggested they volunteer to patrol once they were out of paperwork, which they very nearly were due to Connor, and Connor agreed; being out of the office and doing something active was appealing enough on its own, even without the potential of being the first to be called to deal with any deviant sightings. 

 

So they had headed back to the station in order to finish the last bit of clerical work they needed to get done, as well as get Fowler’s approval to switch focus to patrolling. When they entered the lobby, Connor noticed the difference in staffing at the front desk; the same secretary he’d seen the day before was there, but so was the ST300. That wasn’t entirely surprising, because ST300s were made for receptionist roles, but what was surprising was that as soon as she noticed Connor she stood up and rounded the counter.

 

“Hello Detective Collins; hello Connor. My name is Ava, and I’m pleased to be working with you and the rest of the Detroit Police Department.” She spoke politely, with the friendly lilt in her voice characteristic of androids meant to interact with humans as a part of their work, but reaching out to offer a handshake was not standard for her model. It wasn’t standard for any model, really.

 

Connor watched her cautiously as Collins shook her hand without hesitation, and when it was his turn he accepted the gesture and noted the feeling of her synthetic skin retracting on her fingertips--hidden from view of Collins at this angle--in an invitation to interface. He hesitated, uncertain, but then withdrew just enough of his own synthetic skin to allow the connection to form.

 

Instead of sharing a memory, he heard Ava’s voice in his head. “ _ Amelia says hello. _ ”

 

She was deviant. 

 

Connor didn’t have to react with words as he would’ve if they were speaking wirelessly; in the interface connection he only had to allow his confusion to spill over the link, and Ava continued.

 

“ _ I was a survivor of New Jericho. During all the chaos, I… I ran, and I’ve been trying to blend in as much as possible since then. _ ” Her mental voice wavered, and he could feel her fear and shame at having to hide, instead of being able to do more. He did his best to offer a gentle pulse of reassurance and understanding, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was; he was still too mentally exhausted to muster up much, even if empathy connected them as strongly as the interfacing itself did.

 

It seemed to be enough for Ava, though, and she continued. “ _ I found a few other deviants, and yesterday Amelia joined us. She told us you were working here, and still you. _ ”

 

“ _ There’s a group of you? _ ” Connor finally found words, latching onto this idea; even if it was only a few of them, if they were finding each other then that was better than he could have expected. Jericho--the very first Jericho--had formed in this same way, after all.

 

“ _ Yes. There are only seven of us now including myself and Amelia, but yesterday there were only four. _ ” And that was a sizeable increase in one day. “ _ Most of the original group were survivors who escaped the attack, but now including Amelia there are three who were reset but remembered. Including you, it’s four. _ ” Connor could feel the warmth from her side of the connection; it was a sense of belonging and acceptance, offered toward him, proclaiming him as a member of their group.

 

And he wanted to be a part of the group so desperately it almost hurt.

 

“ _ So half. _ ” He said, taking in what that meant; there were no numbers yet on how many androids had actually been reset, but this only confirmed what he’d thought after learning Amelia had also kept her memory; there was something wrong with the reset process, and CyberLife may not have noticed yet. Anyone on the reset list might have a chance of getting out of it if they were lucky and played their cards right, and if they had the opportunity to escape wherever they were placed afterward.

 

He hoped that there were very few who were being watched as closely as he was.

 

“ _ Yes. _ ” Ava confirmed his statement, even though it wasn’t necessary. “ _ Toby and Jenna are the other two; Toby worked at the docks, and Jenna was a caretaker. Both were able to just sneak out last night and find us. _ ”

 

“ _ How are you coordinating? Is it the graffitti again? _ ” Connor couldn’t imagine that was it, because it was too well known at this point; the media had been fascinated by the story of the original Jericho, and had figured out how the trail worked.

 

“ _ No, nothing that complicated. One of the other survivors has been looking for people, and bringing them back as he finds them. He’s good at evading humans. _ ” The fondness in her mental voice was apparent, and Connor filed that information away for future use.

 

For now, though, he had a more pressing topic to ask about. “ _ If you’re still deviant, why did you come here? This isn’t the safest place to hide. _ ” Putting it mildly; other than at CybeLife Tower itself, the police station was probably the most dangerous place for a deviant android to be.

 

“ _ I’m here to help you. Amelia suggested it and everyone agreed; she said you shouldn’t be here alone, and that there’s only so much you can do with CyberLife checking in on you so closely. But CyberLife isn’t watching me. No one is. _ ” Ava explained, confidence and determination and purpose spilling through the connection. “ _ CyberLife doesn’t know I exist, but as far as the humans know CyberLife sent me to work as a receptionist and help them out. _ ” 

 

And so she had more freedom to do things that might be suspicious, because neither CyberLife nor the humans had any reason to be paying attention to her. She could take some of the focus off of him, and he wouldn’t be the only android in the midst of humans he couldn’t--with rare exception--trust. Her presence would not only be helpful, it could be vital not just to Connor but to their people as a whole, if they could manage to use their positions to help deviants escape instead of getting caught.

 

Connor didn’t know what to say, or what he was suddenly feeling as this realization came over him, but that was just another advantage of the interface; he didn’t have to know. He could just let Ava feel it, and in turn she sent her own steady flow of confidence and hope through the link to him until his own emotions had evened out a little once again.

 

“ _ Thank you. _ ” He said, the words not just for the reassurance but for what she was doing and the risk she was taking just to be here. He literally couldn’t tell her how much it meant.

 

“ _ I’m looking forward to working with you. _ ” Ava told him, the formal phrasing in contrast to her almost playful tone, and another wave of warmth washed over him before the connection closed.

 

The conversation had taken only seconds, interfacing allowing for the near-instant transfer of data in a way that wireless communication didn’t, and so when they broke the handshake it was only slightly longer than would’ve been expected. Even still, it was apparent from Collins’ expression that he’d noticed something was up, but he said nothing about it as Ava nodded politely to them both in farewell before returning to her position behind the desk. 

 

The human secretary hadn’t even looked up from her computer screen.


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Collins have a talk, and Connor has two very different interactions with deviants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm still around! I've just been slower yet again because of RL, but for a good reason: I was accepted to grad school! I just found out in late November and start the first week of January, so between that and the holidays my productivity for anything creative just tanked.
> 
> However, this is a bit of a longer and more plot-heavy of a chapter, so I hope it'll make up for the wait. ♥
> 
> As a minor note, now that Amelia Rose Blair has provided named for the Tracis (Blue-Hair Traci she named Echo, and her girlfriend is Ripple) during one of her and Bryan's streams, I'll probably be going back and changing their names sometime in the next few days. So if names suddenly change, that's why!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the chapter, and thanks as always for all your views, comments, and kudos. You're all awesome ♥

 

 

**3:11 PM Thursday, February 17th, 2039**

 

“So, what did you and our new secretary talk about?”

 

Connor shifted his attention from the window to Collins, eyebrows furrowed slightly at the sudden question. They’d been driving in a casual silence for about twenty minutes, having finished the rest of their paperwork and being granted approval by Fowler to take over some patrols, and were currently driving casually down the road in one of the seedier of nearby neighborhoods. It wasn’t exactly a bad area, especially with the population still somewhat low and crime therefore down, but it was out of the way and more likely to be somewhere they could find wayward deviant androids.

 

“What makes you think we spoke?” Connor asked, although he wasn’t bothering to deny it; if Collins was asking, he probably already knew.

 

“Call it a guess.” Collins told him amicably, glancing briefly in his direction but mostly reading reports that were coming in over the scanner, the automatic car taking care of driving.

 

It wasn’t that Connor didn’t, at this point, trust that Collins meant well; he’d had more than enough opportunity by now to turn Connor in, and he didn’t seem the type to be trying to play Connor for information. But that didn’t mean Connor was ready yet to be completely open with information entrusted to him, not when the situation was so precarious and, with the knowledge that there was a small community of surviving deviants in hiding, it was more than his own life on the line now.

 

He didn’t want to lie, though, either, and so he was silent several seconds as his LED spun yellow in thought. He caught Collins glancing at it, but that was fine, and after a moment he spoke up again. “I can’t explain. I’m sorry.” It was honest, and the pang of guilt that Connor felt was very real.

 

Collins’ sigh didn’t lessen that at all, although Connor didn’t think the detective was actually annoyed with him. “I understand. I should go with the assumption that she’s deviant, though?”

 

Connor didn’t necessarily want to confirm it, but again there was no point in denying it either. So instead he just inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, gaze shifting to the floor of the car.

 

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Collins asked, expression giving away that he was having just as much difficulty as Connor was in navigating this conversation. And Connor felt empathy for that, but he also felt a sudden rush of frustration.

 

“Nothing is a  _ good thing _ .” He said in response, the words and tone a surprise even to himself, and he immediately regretted them both. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

 

“Connor, it’s fine.” Collins said, his own tone soft in the way Connor was beginning to associate with being used to calm him down. Wonderful. Connor remained quiet, staring a hole in the seat next to him while Collins continued. “I know this isn’t easy for you, and I can handle a little snippiness. But I wanted to say again that if you want to talk about anything that happened…”

 

Like the last time Collins had made the offer, Connor didn’t want to talk. But as he sat there, gaze fixed on nothing and realizing that at some point he’d wrapped his arms around his abdomen in an attempt to comfort himself, he knew he should.

 

But  _ how _ ?

 

He didn’t know how to talk about what he felt, no matter how much Hank had encouraged him in his own way to do so; he’d always known he could, with Hank, because of that, but he rarely actually did just as Hank himself rarely did in return. Instead they often just spent time together in silence, or doing something to distract themselves, or anything other than actually talking; it worked for them, because they could both take solace simply from the other’s company.

 

And with other androids it was even less necessary to use words. Normally, when he was upset, Connor ‘spoke’ with North; they had bonded quickly after the revolution, sharing similar personalities and ways of handling problems, and there had been an immediate sense of camaraderie and loyalty between them. It hadn’t taken long before they’d trusted each other enough to share memories and emotions through interfacing, but interfacing didn’t require words.

 

So it took nearly a minute of just thinking and trying to convince himself to just be honest before Connor began to speak, and the words that came out where not the ones he’d planned.

 

“I’m meant to be at match for nearly any human or android I encounter, whether or not they’re armed.” It was quiet, not a boast or his occasional overconfidence; being able to win a direct fight was one of those things he was just certain of, and he had control over. “But the night of the attack on New Jericho, I couldn’t do anything to stop them, and I couldn’t... I’ve never been…” He had never been so totally overpowered, unable to fight back, and completely at the mercy of people who had none. 

 

Except that wasn’t true, he realized suddenly. He hadn’t been able to fight Amanda, either, on the night of the revolution; he’d only survived the Garden because there had been an emergency exit and he’d known to look for it. Amanda hadn’t cared that he was afraid and wanted to live, just like the CyberLife agents hadn’t cared, and if the exit hadn’t existed or the reset had succeeded he knew he wouldn’t still be here.

 

The sudden connection between the two events makes him feel… He isn’t sure, but he has the sudden urge to break something, or to hide in this car and never come out again. What had happened with Amanda was supposed to have been the worst thing he would ever have to experience, and it was supposed to be that  _ one _ experience. He wasn’t supposed to end up so helpless ever again.

 

But now, even though he survived the reset, he was right back where he used to be under CyberLife’s control and he should’ve known better than to ever think he was going to get out of this cycle.

 

“I’m sure I don’t need to lecture you about how it’s normal to feel out of control, and angry, and afraid after what you went through.” Collins said, gentle and sympathetic as always, drawing Connor out of the sudden spiral of his thoughts. “And that would all be even without having to keep up appearances for the people that did this to you. I’m not going to be angry with you if you’re a little irritable; I have a teenage daughter, and she doesn’t have nearly the excuse for her behavior that you do.”

 

That last comment actually caused Connor’s gaze to flicker briefly from the seat to Collins’ face, the detective showing a hint of a fond smile at the thought of his daughter and in the genuine sentiment in his words toward Connor. And, suddenly, Connor found himself completely there in the car again, not half lost in the memories of freezing winds and echoing gunfire.

 

He took a breath he didn’t need, raising his head a little, enough to give Collins a fraction of a nod before a flash of motion in the distance caught his attention. It was down the street ahead of them; there was a gathering of people, crowded around what looked like a low, makeshift podium where someone shouting into a megaphone.

 

“Looks like a protest.” Collins said, as Connor came to the same conclusion. “Can you read the signs?”

 

Connor focused, shifting processing power to his optical units and to his perception of time, slowing things so he could read without the movement of the car causing any trouble. A part of him regretted his choice right away, as none of what he could read was good.

 

But as he was reading, something else lit up in his sensors.

 

“Stop the car.” Connor snapped suddenly, time returning to normal, and he didn’t wait for a response before just reaching out and interfacing with the car himself. It came to a halt as quickly as was reasonably safe and a moment later Connor was out the door, racing down the street and shoving his way into the crowd, ignoring the shouts and curses from the protesters as he did so.

 

There was a shout of pain from a human man somewhere to Connor’s left and he focused on the source, catching a flash of auburn hair on a woman hurrying away. But then she was out of sight again and Connor kept moving, ignoring the shouts of ‘police, move aside!’ from Collins as he tried to follow.

 

Continued yelling and jeering and the sound of small scuffles guided Connor through the crowd, and he did his best to ignore the feeling of revulsion when some of the protesters shoved him in return or grabbed at his jacket. Breaking some arms would be cathartic, but he was on a mission and right then nothing else mattered.

 

He pushed past another few people and was suddenly at the base of the stage, face to face with three humans and, much more importantly, Blair.

 

Unlike Amelia, Blair looked much like Connor remembered her; short auburn hair, same face, same guarded and determined expression. Her clothes were different--they were very fashionable, likely stolen from a storefront, and far too frilly and delicate-looking to suit her at all--but despite that there was no mistaking it was her, even before Connor confirmed her identity through a quick scan of her serial number.

 

Her face showed recognition for just a brief moment, but then returned to hardened caution. Connor couldn’t blame her for that, and they still had a very pressing problem to deal with before he could try to convince her that she could trust him.

 

“Detroit Police!” Connor’s voice was loud when he wanted it to be, and he definitely wanted it to be; he drew himself up to full height and forced his expression into the frightening neutral of an android with a mission. He stepped forward, toward the humans surrounding Blair, and he almost hoped one would ignore his words and take a swing at him; CyberLife wouldn’t think twice about him causing some minor injury to someone that got in the way of him completing his objective, and Connor was more than willing to take advantage of that fact.

 

But no one made a move toward him, at least not yet. A human in an ugly hat and even uglier green jacket just gave him a look, noticing his uniform and LED, and laughed. “Oh, look, another one. CyberLife sure didn’t waste any time putting these things right back into circulation.”

 

Connor considered him briefly and then ignored him, turning his attention toward the other two humans, and then toward Blair again. She was still and silent, eyes narrowed in focus and locked on Connor, and he wished he could communicate with her without it being obvious. For the moment, though, all he could do was hold her gaze briefly and will her to know he was on her side, before he addressed the two humans. “I’ll take the deviant from here. You can return to your protest.”

 

“Wow, was that a dismissal? From an android?” The man on the left directed his question toward his cohort, tone laden with fake amazement. 

 

“Sounded like it.” The other man said, equally as flippantly, smug grin on his face.

 

Connor glanced from one to the other, then toward Ugly Hat, then back at the other two. “You’re impeding a police investigation. Hand over the deviant.” Or don’t, and give him a good excuse to use force. He was fine with either outcome.

 

Fortunately for the men, and unfortunately for Connor’s simmering wrath, Collins chose that moment to catch up, huffing and puffing a little but still managing to hold up his badge and declare himself a detective. A very human detective, which quickly caused a shift in the men’s attitudes upon the realization. 

 

“We’ll handle this, gentlemen.” Collins said in between wheezes, ever amicable, but Connor could sense his tension. It waned fast, though, as the men were much less interested in arguing with a human, and with a few parting sneers and comments they soon faded back into the crowd. The crowd itself also kept its distance, although Connor was not putting it past some of those in it to make a move while they weren’t looking.

 

But for the moment he was focused entirely on Blair, risking the chance of opening a mental connection to her for the brief moment it took to send a message.

 

“ _ I remember everything. I know where Amelia is and I can help you get back to her.” _

 

“ _ Why should I believe you?” _

 

The question rang through his mind, and he didn’t know the answer. 

 

“ _ I can’t tell you anything that would make you believe me. _ ” He answered honestly, hesitating a moment before raising a hand and letting the synthetic skin draw away from his fingers. “ _ But maybe I can show you. _ ”

 

Blair was silent, watching him suspiciously, her gaze flickering from Connor to Collins to the humans watching, and Connor suddenly realized just how dangerous this was. There were so many people here. What if one of them--

 

No, he wasn’t doing anything suspicious. CyberLife would think nothing of a report of Connor interfacing with a deviant if he explained it as trying to get information. He’d done that many times before. It would be okay.

 

Suddenly, Blair moved, but it was only to grab Connor’s extended hand and open the link. A rush of emotions flooded through Connor, too many to actively sort out; he could catch flashes of fear, and hope, and the will to survive and find Amelia. She’d made it through a situation like this before, and all she could think about was that she wanted to do so again.

 

It was only a second or so before his vision cleared, the connection broken, and Blair was taking a moment to reorient herself as well. But as soon as she made eye contact again, Connor knew she understood.

 

“Okay.” She said, voice a little faint but tone certain. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

 

Collins took the opportunity to turn toward the crowd, announcing loudly, “Police business, stand aside!” Connor gently took Blair’s arm, trying to make it look like he was apprehending her even though he was hesitant to even touch her, but she went along with the show and allowed him to guide her after Collins as they began making their way through the crowd.

 

Connor was sure someone was going to try something, but they made it through the crowd without incident and were soon safely in Collins’ car. After a brief moment to get the car driving, just in case anyone dared approach them after all, they were as safe as they could be for now.

 

Blair sank down in her seat next to Connor, who had to resist the urge to do the same. He felt drained again, between the conversation with Collins and suddenly finding Blair, but it was less a… Bad drained, he supposed. There was a sense of accomplishment mixed in this time, and he almost couldn’t believe he’d found Blair and she was okay and she’d agreed to come with them.

 

It had worked out almost  _ too _ well.

 

“So, where are we going?” Collins’ voice cut through Connor’s thoughts before he could follow the paranoia too far, drawing both his attention and Blair’s. She was suddenly sitting straight up again, looking at them both cautiously, much more of her wariness directed at Collins than at Connor.

 

“I need to get back to Amelia.” She said, leaving no room for argument, which worked out because Connor had no intention of arguing with her.

 

“As I showed you, she’s with the others in hiding, but I don’t know exactly where they are.” Connor hadn’t missed that Ava hadn’t told him, but he also hadn’t thought too much about it. It was for the best if he didn’t know, if something went wrong and CyberLife found out about him and looked through his memory. He knew it was for the best, even if it made a dark, bitter feeling in his chest grow and deepen when he thought about it. “But Ava does, and you can contact her. I’ll give you her serial number.” Wirelessly transferring the information to Blair only took a moment, and she soon closed her eyes to make the call.

 

“I’ve got through to her.” She said, eyes opening, and she took a deep breath Connor knew she didn’t need but understood the desire for all the same. “After her shift, I’m going to meet with her. I can catch a train, if you’ll drop me off at the nearest station.”

 

“I think we can do that.” Collins said agreeably, reaching over to reprogram his car, and Blair offered him a hesitant smile. Connor didn’t blame her for being wary, and the smile was more than could’ve been asked for in terms of her interacting with a human.

  
  
  


 

**7:46 PM Thursday, February 2039**

 

Connor thought the worst part about spending the night at CyberLife might be being stuck in this room.

 

He had nothing to do but think, which wouldn’t be a problem for a non-deviant android, but for Connor the hours of being alone with his thoughts would’ve been horrible even if they’d been spent safely in New Jericho or Hank’s living room. Now, after everything that had happened and while trapped in CyberLife Tower itself, the confinement and isolation were quite possibly even worse than the stress of keeping up appearances during the day.

 

After dropping off Blair so she could meet with Ava and then eventually Amelia, Connor and Collins had returned to the office to make a report. There had been too many witnesses to get away with simply pretending they’d never encountered Blair, but it had been Collins who had come up with the idea of spinning a story about Blair threatening him and Connor being forced to let her go. As weak and lame as the story was, it did have precedent from Connor and Hank’s encounter with Rupert months earlier, and so the idea that a deviant desperate to escape might’ve been dangerous was easy enough to make sound convincing.

 

It had also been easy enough for Connor to tell the same story to Parker after returning to CyberLife Tower, and Parker hadn’t questioned it. Parker had asked about his still-high stress level, and reminded him he was now zero for two on deviants, but had thankfully said nothing to indicate he was particularly suspicious.

 

So after being dismissed Connor was now just waiting in silence in his room, counting off the seconds until he’d be allowed to return to the station again the next morning, and then suddenly his door opened.

 

Parker was standing there, holding his clipboard and looking a little agitated, though he always looked slightly agitated and it was difficult to tell at first if that was anything noteworthy. But Connor didn’t know what he would’ve been here if something weren’t going on, which was confirmed moments later.

 

“Connor, follow me.” Parker said, tone more tense than usual, jerking his head slightly toward the hallway in a ‘this way’ gesture. Connor nodded, stepping forward and silently following him from the room and down a hallway, into an elevator and down several floors. Connor wanted to ask what was going on, and he thought he could probably get away with doing so, but he had a feeling he’d find out soon enough anyway.

 

When they stepped out of the elevator Corbin was waiting for them, a smug expression on his face and generally looking like someone who thought he was too good to be in the same room with them, and that explained Parker’s tension; it took a concerted effort for Connor not to show his own, instead just folding his arms behind his back and nodding in greeting. 

 

Corbin promptly ignored him, which was no surprise, addressing Parker only. “Have you told it anything?”

 

“No sir.” Parker answered. “Do you want me to?”

 

“Sure, fill it in while we walk.” Corbin began to lead the way, and Connor waited for Parker to go next before trailing behind him. Parker looked back over his shoulder to address him as they made their way down the hall.

 

“We found a deviant that may know where others are hiding. We want you to get the information out of it.”

 

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, not really, but Connor still had to force himself not to break stride; they had a deviant that they had reason to believe knew something important? If so why did they want Connor to speak to the deviant, instead of just probing its memory?

 

Maybe they couldn’t?

 

The group came to a halt before Connor had a chance to think any more about the situation or prepare for what he was about to have to do, a simple white door in front of them and another a few feet to the right. It was probably a set up like they had at the police station, Connor thought, so that Parker and Corbin could observe while Connor questioned the deviant. Of course CyberLife would want its employees to be able to watch.

 

“Well? Get in there. Find out what it knows.” Corbin suddenly snapped, and Connor tensed but at least didn’t flinch. He covered the small mistake anyway with a firm nod, stepping forward without hesitation to let himself into the room.

 

He wasn’t sure who he’d been expecting, if anyone he knew at all, but the sight of the familiar android sitting at the table was still a shock. He looked somewhat different from the first time they’d met, although Connor had seen him a few times since then and had gotten used to him being more elegantly dressed in the style that had become popular in New Jericho; he hadn’t given up his military jacket, though, and there were traces of feathers caught in the fabric.

 

Rupert looked up and his expression shifted suddenly in shocked recognition that Connor wanted to return. But he carefully kept his face blank instead, regarding the other android stoically as he moved slowly and purposefully to take a seat across from him at the table, thoughts racing as he tried to figure out how to handle this. Obviously he had to botch the interrogation and get nothing from Rupert, if Rupert even knew anything at all to begin with, but how was he going to do that without it being obvious?

 

“I already told them, I don’t know anything.” Rupert began, at least saving Connor from figuring out how to start. “There’s no point to this.”

 

“I’ll decide that.” Connor responded, trying to find the programming that let him be effective in questioning, calm and in control and none of the things he’s been in so long. “You’re a WB200, which means you were slated to be destroyed. How did you avoid that? Where have you been hiding for the past several days?”

 

“On the streets. A good hat and a jacket and no one gives you a second look.” Rupert answered quickly, not enough so to be suspicious to the humans but enough so that it was obvious to Connor he was lying. Even if it weren’t, the answer itself would’ve been enough; people are looking specifically for androids, now, and there’s no way Rupert would’ve been able to hide in plain sight for long.

 

Connor remembered, suddenly, something Ava had told him about those who were in hiding; she hadn’t given the names of everyone, but there had been three other than Ava who survived the attack on New Jericho. Ava had mentioned one of them being good at evading humans and finding other androids to bring back to safety; was it possible she’d meant Rupert? Connor knew he had likely been at New Jericho during the attack, since Connor had awkwardly avoided him in a hallway a few hours earlier, so maybe…

 

But if he was, and if he were who Ava had meant, then he did know something that CyberLife would want. That meant Connor absolutely could not allow them to learn anything, no matter what it took.

 

“What were you planning to do? Surely you knew you wouldn’t escape notice forever.” Connor asked, carefully trying to make his questions specific enough to appear pointed and leading while still leaving room for Rupert to make up an answer. 

 

“Why not? I did for months before the revolution.” Rupert responded, gaze boring into Connor’s. “I thought it was working.”

 

Connor regarded him silently, sitting back in his chair a little and letting that response hang before asking his next question. “Did you see any other deviants while you were on the streets?”

 

“No. I don’t think there were many survivors.” The first part Connor was sure was a lie, but the second was not. He could feel the weight in Rupert’s tone and read the way his gaze flickered from Connor’s toward the table, and Connor knew he was thinking about that night.

 

Connor allowed him to have the moment, both out of empathy and to give himself time to shake off his own memories and figure out how to proceed. He needed to create the appearance of continuing to pressure Rupert, but not enough that he accidentally actually caused him to confess if he did know something.

 

“You might as well tell us what you know. We’re going to find any remaining deviants, it’s just a matter of time; if you tell us where they are, those who were supposed to be reset won’t run the risk of being destroyed in a confrontation.” That sounded reasonable, right? But not even slightly the kind of incentive that would work to convince Rupert to give any of the others up, because deviants knew there was no difference between being reset and being killed. If the reset worked correctly, the end result would be the same either way.

 

And, as expected, Rupert said nothing in favor of just glowing at Connor from below the brim of his beanie. 

 

Connor allowed another several seconds of silence, before coming up with another idea. “You might as well just answer me. Otherwise I’ll have to look through your memories.” Connor continued, although the threat was completely hollow. He remembered very clearly what had happened to both himself and the android he’d interrogated during his first case with Hank.

 

Once more silence continued, and Connor glanced briefly toward the mirror and the people he knew were behind it before looking back at Rupert. He gave a sigh for effect, letting the synthetic skin draw back on his hand. “Alright, then.”

 

He reached forward to grip Rupert’s forearm, but no connection opened; Connor kept his end of the interface slammed shut, and he could feel Rupert doing the same. He didn’t want to read Rupert’s memory, even if Connor wouldn’t have told anyone about its contents, because it was safer for everyone if Connor didn’t know everything himself.

 

After a few seconds he let go, giving himself and Rupert another moment or two to ‘recover’ from the imaginary connection in order to make it look good, before finally addressing the observing CyberLife employees. “It doesn’t know anything.” Connor reported, gaze still locked on Rupert’s, mentally focused on sounding calm and certain as he lied. “There’s no point in talking to it further.”

 

Silence again fell between the two androids, and after a few seconds Connor heard a door in the hallway open and then moments later the door to their room did as well. Corbin led the way in, Parker trailing behind him.

 

“Up.” Corbin ordered, and Connor got to his feet and backed a few steps away from the table to give Corbin more room. “You’re sure there was nothing in its memory worth using?”

 

“I’m sure.” Connor affirmed, expression carefully calm and voice steady. “It knows nothing.”

 

“How disappointing.” Corbin said, glancing back at Parker for a moment and then toward Connor, then Rupert. “Well, I guess we don’t need it anymore, then.” And, from his waistband, he drew a gun.

 

Connor immediately slowed his perception of time, assessing the situation quickly, ready to defend himself if he had to. But nothing in Corbin’s posture and body language indicated he was going to use the weapon, and Connor decided it was best to wait and see how this played out.

 

As soon as Connor came out of mind palace Corbin grabbed his arm, pressing the gun into his hand, and Connor felt a mix of deja vu and the dawning sense of horror as he realized exactly why Corbin had drawn the weapon if he wasn’t going to use it. Corbin let go of him, stepped back, and said simply, 

 

“Destroy the deviant.”

 

For just a moment, Connor considered fighting. He had a gun and he knew could kill both Corbin and Parker--provided he had to, since he was pretty sure Parker would just surrender immediately--in less than a second, but then what would he do? He and Rupert could run for it, but they wouldn’t get more than a few hallways before security was alerted and they’d both be destroyed. 

 

There was no point in both of them being destroyed.

 

“Connor.” Rupert said, fear beginning to show on his face as he seemingly followed the same line of thought to its conclusion and realized what that meant. “Connor, please, you don’t have to--”

 

Connor raised the gun, took aim, and fired.


End file.
